to Bologna.  Under date of August 17th, Ossoli writes:—­“Mia Cara! How deplorable is my state!  I have suffered a most severe struggle.  If your condition were other than it is, I could resolve more easily; but, in the present moment, I cannot leave you!  Ah, how cruel is Destiny!  I understand well how much you would sacrifice yourself for me, and am deeply grateful; but I cannot yet decide.”  Margaret is alone, without a single friend, and not only among strangers, but surrounded by people so avaricious, cunning, and unscrupulous, that she has to be constantly on the watch to avoid being fleeced; she is very poor, and has no confidant, even in Rome, to consult with; she is ill, and fears death in the near crisis; yet thus, with true Roman greatness, she counsels her husband:—­“It seems, indeed, a marvel how all things go contrary to us!  That, just at this moment, you should be called upon to go away.  But do what is for your honor.  If honor requires it, go.  I will try to sustain myself.  I leave it to your judgment when to come,—­if, indeed, you can ever come again!  At least, we have had some hours of peace together, if now it is all over.  Adieu, love; I embrace thee always, and pray for thy welfare.  Most affectionately, adieu.”

* * * * *

From this trial, however, she was spared.  Pio Nono hesitated to send the civic guard to the north of Italy.  Then Margaret writes:—­“On our own account, love, I shall be most grateful, if you are not obliged to go.  But how unworthy, in the Pope!  He seems now a man without a heart.  And that traitor, Charles Albert!  He will bear the curse of all future ages.  Can you learn particulars from Milan?  I feel sad for our poor friends there; how much they must suffer! * * * I shall be much more tranquil to have you at my side, for it would be sad to die alone, without the touch of one dear hand.  Still, I repeat what I said in my last; if duty prevents you from coming, I will endeavor to take care of myself.”  Again, two days later, she says:—­“I feel, love, a profound sympathy with you, but am not able to give perfectly wise counsel.  It seems to me, indeed, the worst possible moment to take up arms, except in the cause of duty, of honor; for, with the Pope so cold, and his ministers so undecided, nothing can be well or successfully done.  If it is possible for you to wait for two or three weeks, the public state will be determined,—­as will also mine,—­and you can judge more calmly.  Otherwise, it seems to me that I ought to say nothing.  Only, if you go, come here first.  I must see you once more.  Adieu, dear.  Our misfortunes are many and unlooked for.  Not often does destiny demand a greater price for some happy moments.  Yet never do I repent of our affection; and for thee, if not for me, I hope that life has still some good in store.  Once again, adieu!  May God give thee counsel and help, since they are not in the power of thy affectionate Margherita.”