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 musing on Ferdinand's last words, and with a sigh of pity that two such men should be "married and unhappy."

Count M and his friend pursued their route for some miles without stopping or speaking, absorbed each in his own painful reflections; the other was unheeded; until, coming out of a wood, and ascending a rising ground a little to the left, Ferdinand saw the hills on which the city of Baden was situated, and instantly recollected his little Charles. Ah! thought he, shall I not once more fold him in my arms; the dear, unhappy, forsaken boy, perhaps soon to be an orphan, without a father or a friend. He stopped his horse, and turning, saw the Count galloping towards him, who, observing his agitation, eagerly inquired if any accident had befallen him.

"No," replied Ferdinand, "but do you not see those distant hills? A little beyond, you know, stands Baden: I have a son."

"I understand you," said the Count;—and guess what passes in your heart. But my