tinually writing for me to return, it
was her duty not to oppose. Between the two, my poor grandmother was so
annoyed and perplexed that she hardly knew what to do. They made her
miserable, and at last they worried her into consenting that I should
return to my family which had now removed to Colmar. I did not know
this. It was my grandmother's birthday. I had worked for her a
beautiful sachet in lace and embroidery, which, with a large bouquet, I
brought to her as a present. The old lady folded me in her arms and
burst into tears. She then told me that we must part, and that I must
return to my father's. Had a dagger been thrust to my heart, I could
not have received more anguish.

"Yes, dear Valerie," continued she, "you must leave me to-morrow; I can
no longer prevent it. I have not the health and spirits that I had. I
am growing old--very old."

I did not remonstrate or try to make her alter her decision. I knew how
much she had been annoyed and worried for my sake, and I felt that I
would bear everything for hers. I cried bitterly. The next morning my
father made his appearance and embraced me with great affection. He was
much pleased with my personal improvement. I was now fast budding into
womanhood, although I had the feelings of a mere child. I bade farewell
to my grandmother, and also to my grandfather, whom I never saw again,
as he died three months after I quitted Luneville.

I trust my readers will not think that I dwell too long upon this
portion of my life. I do it because I consider it is necessary they
should know in what manner I was brought up, and also the cause of my
leaving my family, as I afterwards did. If I had stated merely that I
could not agree with my mother who treated me cruelly, they might have
imagined that I was not warranted, in a moment of irritation, in taking
such a decided step; but when they learn that my persecutions were
renewed the moment that I was again in my mother's power, and that
nothing could conquer her inveteracy against me, neither time, nor
absence, nor submission on my part, nor remonstrance from others; not
even a regard for her own character, nor the loss of her friends and
acquaintances, they will then acknowledge that I could have done no
otherwise, unless I preferred being in daily risk of my life. On my
arrival at Colmar, my mother received me graciously, but her politeness
did not last long. I now gave a new cause of offence--one that a