In M—, an important town in Northern Italy, the widowed Marquise of O—, a woman of impeccable reputation and mother of well-broughtup children, made it known through the newspapers that she had inexplicably found herself in a certain condition, that the father of the child she would bear should make himself known, and that out of regard for her family she was resolved to marry him. The woman who under the pressure of irremediable circumstances took such a strange step, risking universal derision with such fortitude, was the daughter of Colonel G—, Commandant of the citadel outside M—. Some three years before, she had lost her husband, to whom she had been most ardently and tenderly devoted, during a journey he had made on family business to Paris. At the behest of her excellent mother, the Marquise had, after her husband’s death, left her house in the country where she had lived outside V—, and returned with both her children to her father in the Commandant’s house. The following years she spent in deep seclusion, devoted to the care of her parents and the pursuit of art, literature and the education of her children, until the — War filled the surrounding region with the soldiers of almost all the European powers, even Russians. Ordered to defend the citadel, the Commandant urged his wife and daughter to withdraw either to the Marquise’s country house or to his son’s, near V—. However, before the women could weigh up the choice between the danger of remaining and the horror of what they might be subjected to in open country, the citadel was overrun by Russian troops and called upon to surrender. The Commandant told his family that from now on he would act as if they were not there, and responded with bullets and grenades. The enemy in turn bombarded the citadel, set fire to the magazine and captured an outwork; and when the Commandant, once more challenged to surrender, hesitated to do so, orders were given for a night attack and the fortress was captured by storm. Just as the Russian troops, covered by heavy siege artillery, forced their way into the Commandant’s house, its left wing caught fire and the women were forced to leave. His wife, hurrying after their daughter, who had gone down the steps with her children, shouted that they should keep together and take shelter in the lower vaults, but a grenade exploding on the house at that precise moment caused total confusion inside. The Marquise came with her two children to the forecourt of the castle where the shooting, now at its heaviest, was already lighting up the night, forcing her, out of her mind where she should turn next, back into the burning building. Here she was unfortunate enough to meet a band of hostile riflemen just as she was intending to slip out by the back door. At the sight of her they suddenly fell silent, slung their weapons over their shoulders and took her with them while making the most abominable gestures. Tugged and pulled this way and that by the terrifying pack fighting among themselves, the Marquise vainly shouted for help to her trembling women servants, who were escaping through the door. She was dragged into the rear courtyard of the castle where, subject to the most shameful mishandling, she was about to sink to the ground when, at the sound of her screams for help, a Russian officer appeared and with angry thrusts scattered the dogs lusting after their booty. To the Marquise he seemed like an angel from heaven. He struck the murderous beast who was embracing her slender body in the face with the hilt of his sword so that blood poured out of his mouth and he staggered back; then, politely addressing her in French, he offered her his arm and led her, rendered speechless by all she had witnessed, into the other wing of the palace not yet consumed by the flames, where she proceeded to sink to the ground completely unconscious. There – when her frightened women reappeared, he took steps to send for a doctor, made assurances as he put on his hat that she would soon recover, and returned to the fighting.