more, before death, she might rejoice in his presence. It happened on the very day of his return, that his son, now seven years of age, sat with his mother among the mendicants sumptuously apparelled. When he heard his mother address the person who experienced her bounty in the manner mentioned above, "Mother," said he, "is it not my father whom you recommend to the prayers of these poor people?" "It is, my son," replied she; "the third night following our marriage, he left me; and I have never seen him since." Now as the lady walked among her dependents, who were ranged in order, she approached her own husband, Guido, and gave him alms—but she knew not who he was. He bowed his head in acknowledgement, fearful lest his voice should discover him. As the countess walked, her son followed; and Guido, raising his eyes, and seeing his offspring, whom he had not before seen, he could not contain himself. He caught him in his arms, and kissed him. "My darling child," said he, "may the Lord give thee grace to do that which is pleasing in his eyes." The lady, observing the emo-
