Now it is very noticeable that when unusual events begin to happen in any life, there is a succession of such events, and not unfrequently they arrive in similar ways.  At any rate about ten days after the receipt of Annie’s letter, Cornelia was almost equally amazed by the receipt of another letter.  It came one day about noon, and a slave of Van Ariens brought it—­a piece of paper twisted carelessly but containing these few pregnant words: 

Cornelia, dear, come to me.  Bring me something to wear.  I have just arrived, saved by the skin of my teeth, and I have not a decent garment of any kind to put on.  Arenta.

A thunderbolt from a clear sky could hardly have caused such surprise, but Cornelia did not wait to talk about the wonder.  She loaded a maid with clothing of every description, and ran across the street to her friend.  Arerita saw her coming, and met her with a cry of joy, and as Van Ariens was sick and trembling with the sight of his daughter, and the tale of her sufferings, Cornelia persuaded him to go to sleep, and leave Arenta to her care.  Poor Arenta, she was ill with the privations she had suffered, she was half-starved, and nearly without clothing, but she did not complain much until she had been fed, and bathed, and “dressed” as she said “like a New York woman ought to be.”

“You know what trunks and trunks full of beautiful things I took away with me, Cornelia,” she complained; “Well I have not a rag left.  I have nothing left at all.”

“Your husband, Arenta?”

“He was guillotined.”

“Oh, my dear Arenta!”

“Guillotined.  I told him to be quiet.  I begged him to go over to Marat, but no! his nobility obliged him to stand by his order and his king.  So for them, he died.  Poor Athanase!  He expected me to follow him, but I could not make up my mind to the knife.  Oh how terrible it was!” Then she began to sob bitterly, and Cornelia let her talk of her sufferings until she fell into a sleep—­a sleep easy to see, still haunted by the furies and terrors through which she had passed.

For a week Cornelia remained with her friend, and Madame Jacobus joined them as often as possible, and gradually the half-distraught woman recovered something of her natural spirits and resolution.  In this week she talked out all her frightful experiences in the great prison of La Force, and was completely overwhelmed at their remembrance.  But the trouble which has been removed, soon grows far off; and Arenta quickly took her place in her home, and resumed her old life.  Of course with many differences.  She could not be the same Arenta, she had outlived many of her illusions.  She took but little interest for a while in the life around her; her thoughts and conversation were still in Paris, and this was evident from the fact, that during the whole week of Cornelia’s stay with her, she never once named Cornelia’s love, or life, or prospects.  Rem she did talk about, but chiefly because he was going to marry an English girl, an intention she angrily deplored.