During my absence, I had but one thought, one desire; it was to see you again and fix the day of our marriage, as I told you in my letter--"

"Your letter!" interrupted the girl, sadly. "Have you already forgotten what you wrote, Louis? Here--read it."

"He can deny his own writing, of course," growled Mme. Lacombe, as the young man hastily placed the torn pieces together; "and you'll be stupid enough to believe him."

"This is what I wrote, Mariette," said Louis, when he had succeeded in his difficult task.

"My Dear Mariette:

"I shall be with you the day following the receipt of this letter.

What I have suffered during this short separation proves that I cannot live without you. Thank G.o.d, the day of our union is fast approaching.

Tomorrow is the _sixth of May_, remember. I shall speak to my father the moment I reach home, and I am sure he will not refuse his consent.

"Farewell, then, until day after to-morrow, my darling Mariette. I love you madly, or wisely, rather; for I was wise to seek and find happiness in a heart like yours.

"Yours forever and ever. LOUIS."

"I write these few lines only, because I shall be in Paris almost as soon as my letter; and then, it is always painful to think that other eyes see what I write for you only. Were it not for this, how many things might I not say!"

Mariette was so astounded that she could find no word to say.

"I cannot understand how this letter could have produced such a sad effect on you?" said Louis, much perplexed.

"Is that really what the letter says?" asked the amazed girl.

"Certainly. Here, Madame Lacombe, read it," suggested Louis, placing the fragments before her.

"You know very well that I can't read," replied the old woman, roughly.

"How is it that the contrary was told Mariette?"

"Who read it for you, Mariette?" asked Louis.

"The public scribe," she informed him.

"A public scribe!" exclaimed the young man, a fearful suspicion flashing through his mind. "In mercy, explain yourself!"

"There is very little to explain, my dear Louis. I went in search of a public scribe, at the _Charnier des Innocents_, and dictated a letter for you to a very kind old gentleman. He was so kind, indeed, that he only charged me ten sous, although he was obliged to write it twice, having spilt the bottle of ink on the first copy as he was preparing to address it to Dreux. When I reached home again, I found this letter from you; then I went back to the public scribe--for he had shown much interest in me--and he read it for me. According to him, the letter said that we should never meet again; that your father's future happiness and your own depended on our separation, and that--" But she could say no more, and burst into tears.

Louis understood it all, however, from the chance meeting of Mariette with his father, to the stratagem of the latter to deceive them both.

This abuse of confidence overwhelmed him with such grief and shame, that he dared not admit the tie of relationship existing between himself and the public scribe, but sought another plausible explanation of this deceit and treachery.

"Notwithstanding his apparent good nature and benevolence, this old rascal must have been trying to amuse himself at your expense, my poor Mariette," said the young man. "He read you just the contrary of what I had written."

"Oh! how could he be so cruel!" cried the girl, clasping her two hands together. "He appeared so good, and expressed his sympathy so kindly for poor creatures like me, who can neither read nor write."

"One thing is evident, my dear Mariette, he certainly deceived you."

"But did you receive my letter at Dreux?"

"It must have reached that city after I had left it," he said, unwilling to admit that it had been addressed to Paris. "But never mind it now," he added, anxious to drop a conversation which pained him so deeply; "we are happy and--"

"Yes, you are happy enough," put in Mme. Lacombe, "but what about me?"

"What do you mean, G.o.dmother?" asked Mariette.

"I mean that I will never consent to such a marriage," she said harshly.

"But my dear madame--" began Louis.

"Tut, tut, tut, soft words won't blind me, young man;" she interrupted roughly. "If you are the son of a public writer, you are as penniless as Mariette; and two miseries united in marriage are worth three single ones. My G.o.ddaughter has enough of me to support, without a troop of famished children."

"But, my dear G.o.dmother--" protested the girl.

"Don't bother me!" she retorted angrily. "I know your plans; you simply want to rid yourself of me and leave me in the gutter to starve."

"How can you believe such a thing!" cried Mariette, reproachfully, her eyes full of tears.

"Your fears are groundless, I a.s.sure you," Louis hastened to say. "I have just discovered that my father is immensely wealthy, but for reasons of his own, he has kept the matter a secret until now."

Mariette gazed at Louis with an air of mingled astonishment and delight at this unexpected information. Then she smiled through her tears and said, with a shade of defiance in her gentle voice: "You see, G.o.dmother, that the picture is not as dark as you painted it, we are quite able to take care of you as well as ourselves."

"You are quite ready to fall into the trap, of course," rejoined the old woman, with a sarcastic laugh.

"But, G.o.dmother--"

"Don't you see that he is inventing those lies to obtain my consent to your marriage--"

"Madame, I swear--"

"And I tell you there is no truth in it; or, if you are rich, you don't want Mariette. A rich man would never be stupid enough to marry a poor girl who can neither read nor write."

"You are mistaken," said Louis, with dignity; "the son of a rich man does not break the word given in his days of poverty, when his life's happiness depends on that word--"

"Bah! mere phrases and words!" interrupted the woman sharply. "Rich or poor, you shall never have Mariette, until you have a.s.sured me a living. I don't ask much; only six hundred francs a year; but I must have it in money, with a contract deposited in the hands of a reliable notary."

"Ah! G.o.dmother, why should you distrust Louis so?" protested Mariette tearfully.

"My dear child, I know all about these fine promises," declared Mme.

Lacombe. "He will promise anything beforehand; then, when he is sure of you, out goes the old cripple. With you, Mariette, I have nothing to fret about. I may be a heavy burden, but you are a good girl and stand in awe of me. Once married, however, you will both defy me and throw me out of the house. What will become of me, then? Is it my fault if I am a cripple? No! no! I tell you there shall be no marriage unless an income of six hundred francs is placed in the hands of a notary!"

While giving away to these bitter recriminations, the poor creature rocked to and fro, looking furtively at the two young people and watching the effect of her words.

"Poor Mariette," thought Louis, "how she must have suffered! To think of so much affection and devotion rewarded with so much ingrat.i.tude!"

"Madame," he said aloud, when she had ceased speaking, "you may rest a.s.sured that neither Mariette nor myself will ever forget that you have been as a mother to her; and you shall always be treated with the consideration that you deserve--I swear it."

"Thank you, Louis!" cried the girl gratefully, "I am glad to see that you share my sentiments for my poor G.o.dmother, who has indeed been as a mother to me."