prise when, eight months afterward, he received in a remote part of Germany, one of the most tender letters, in which his dear wife, without recalling in any manner the accident at the country seat, announced to him the birth of a daughter, and entreated him to come back to Venice. Krespel, suspecting some trick, made inquiries: he learned, in effect, that the beautiful Italian had fallen on some flower beds that had softened her fall, and that the only result of the flight that this nightingale had taken out of the window, was a fortunate change of character. The lady was no longer capricious, or choleric; the conjugal remedy had performed a miracle. The good counsellor was so touched by this news, that he immediately ordered the horses to be put to his carriage. But hardly had he got in, than he reflected.
"Devil!" said he to himself, "if the lady should not turn out to be radically cured, would it be necessary to throw her out of the window again?" This question was difficult to solve.
Krespel went back to his house, wrote a long letter to his dear wife, in which he congratulated her on his daughter's having, like himself, a little mark behind the ear: then, he remained in Germany. New letters passed between them. Protestations of love, projects for the future, complaints and soft prayers flew like doves, from Venice to H——. One fine day Angela came to Germany, and attracted attention to her singing in the theatre at F——. Although she was not extremely young, she inspired passions, made some happy, and an infinity of victims.
Meanwhile, Krespel's little daughter had grown up; she was called Antonia, and her mother found in her a singer of nearly her own force. Krespel, knowing that his wife was so near him, was dying with a desire to embrace his child; but the fear of the follies of the lady restrained him, and he remained at home, amongst his violins, that never contradicted him.
At that time a young musician, of great promise, fell in love with Antonia; Krespel, consulted, was pleased to have
