"All is well, my love," answered he, struggling to repress his emotions: "Compose your mind, and expect happier days; the moment you can be removed without danger, we shall reside at the Castle."—She uttered a faint exclamation of joy, and fainted. Ferdinand was terrified, and blamed himself for his abrupt communication; but happily she was soon restored, and capable of rejoicing at such unhoped-for intelligence.
"You are no longer reprobated then," said she, tenderly kissing his hand, "no longer consigned to misery, and our dear infants will not endure the pinching gripe of poverty. Blessed, blessed Count! you have at length relented, and I may think existence a blessing." This apostrophe was more than the unhappy Ferdinand could bear. Unable to speak, he hastily left the room; his poor deceived wife judging what he must feel from such a (supposed) revolution in his circumstances, imagined he had withdrawn, that their mutual transports might not too much agitate her
