'I am, then, in my right,' wrote she, 'when I address you as my dear, dear uncle, of whom I have heard so much, and whose name was in my prayers ere I knew why I knelt to pray.' Then followed a piteous appeal--it was actually a cry for protection.

Her father, she said, had determined to devote her to the stage, and already had taken steps to sell her--she said she used the word advisedly--for so many years to the impresario of the 'Fenice' at Venice, her voice and musical skill being such as to give hope of her becoming a prima donna.
She had, she said, frequently sung at private parties at Rome, but only knew within the last few days that she had been, not a guest, but a paid performer.

Overwhelmed with the shame and indignity of this false position, she implored her mother's brother to compassionate her.

'If I could not become a governess, I could be your servant, dearest uncle,' she wrote.

'I only ask a roof to shelter me, and a refuge.