Yours for ever.

"'L.'"

Mariette had listened to the letter with such profound astonishment that she had been unable to utter a word.

"That, Mariette, is what I wrote," remarked Louis. "What was there in my letter to make you so wretched?"

"Is that really what was in the letter, M. Louis?" asked Madame Lacombe.

"See for yourself, madame," said Louis, handing her the sc.r.a.ps of paper.

"Do you suppose I know how to read?" was the surly response. "How was it that the letter was read so differently to Mariette, then?"

"Who read my letter to you, Mariette?" asked Louis.

"A scrivener."

"A scrivener!" repeated Louis, a.s.sailed by a sudden suspicion. "Explain, Mariette, I beg of you."

"The explanation is very simple, M. Louis. I asked a scrivener on the Charnier des Innocents to write a letter to you. He wrote it, and just as he was about to put your address on it he overturned his inkstand on the letter, and was obliged to write it all over again. On my return home, I found your letter waiting for me; but having no one to read it to me in Augustine's absence, I went back to the scrivener, a very kind and respectable old man, and asked him to read what you had written to me. He read it, or at least pretended to read it, for, according to him, you said that we must never meet again, that your future and that of your father demanded it, and for that reason you entreated me--"

But the poor girl's emotion overcame her, and she burst into tears.

Louis understood now that chance had led Mariette to his father for a.s.sistance, that the pretended accident had been merely a stratagem that enabled the scrivener to write a second letter of an entirely different import from the first, and to address it, not to Dreux, but to Paris, so Louis would find it on his arrival in that city. He understood, too, his father's object in thus deceiving Mariette in regard to the real contents of the second letter, when she again applied to him. The discovery of this breach of confidence on the part of his father--the reason of which was only too apparent--overwhelmed Louis with sorrow and shame. He dared not confess to his sweetheart the relation that existed between him and the scrivener, but, wishing to give the two women some plausible explanation of the deception that had been practised upon them, he said:

"In spite of this scrivener's apparent kindness of heart, he must have taken a malicious pleasure in playing a joke upon you, my poor Mariette, for he read you the exact opposite of what I had written."

"How shameful!" cried the girl. "How could he have had the heart to deceive me so? He had such a benevolent air, and spoke so feelingly of the sympathy he always felt for those unfortunate persons who, like myself, could neither read nor write."

"But you can see for yourself that he did deceive you shamefully? Still, what does it matter, now?" added Louis, anxious to put an end to such a painful topic. "We understand each other's feelings now, Mariette, and--"

"One moment," interposed Madame Lacombe; "you may feel satisfied and rea.s.sured, Mariette, but I do not."

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

"I mean that I strongly disapprove of this marriage."

"But listen, madame," pleaded Louis.

"As you are the son of a public scrivener, you haven't a sou to your name. Mariette hasn't, either, and two people in such circ.u.mstances as that have no right to marry. My G.o.ddaughter has me to take care of. She would be sure, too, to have a lot of children, and a nice fix we should all be in!"

"But, G.o.dmother--"

"Don't talk to me. I know what you intend to do. The first thing you'll try for is to get rid of the old woman. There won't be bread enough for us all, and I shall be turned out into the street to be arrested as a public vagabond. I shall be sent to the workhouse, so you won't be troubled with me any more. Oh, yes, I understand your scheme."

"Oh, G.o.dmother, how can you imagine such a thing as that?"

"Dismiss all such fears from your mind, I beg of you, madame," Louis made haste to say, "This very day I made a most unexpected discovery. My father, for reasons which I must respect, has concealed from me the fact that we are rich, very rich."

Mariette manifested much more astonishment than delight on hearing this startling announcement, but turning to Madame Lacombe after a moment, she said:

"You see you need be troubled by no more of these terrible misgivings in regard to my future, G.o.dmother."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Madame Lacombe, sardonically; "so she really believes it--"

"But, G.o.dmother--"

"Nonsense, child, can't you see that he has invented this story so I will consent to your marriage?"

"But I swear, madame--"

"I tell you it is all a lie," exclaimed Madame Lacombe; "for if you were as rich as you say, you wouldn't want Mariette any longer. Would the son of a rich man be fool enough to marry a poor working girl who can neither read nor write?"

Though she did not exactly share her G.o.dmother's doubts, Mariette gazed at Louis a little sadly and uneasily, as she thought of the great change in his fortunes.

The young man must have understood the meaning of the look, for he said:

"You are very much mistaken, Madame Lacombe; the son of a rich man keeps the promise he made as a poor man when the happiness of his life depends upon that promise."

"Bah! that is all talk!" interrupted the invalid, in surly tones; "but rich or poor, you won't get Mariette without I am sure of a living. I don't ask much,--six hundred francs a year will do,--but the money must be deposited in the hands of a reliable notary before the marriage contract is signed."

"Oh, G.o.dmother, have you no more confidence in Louis than that?"

"A nice fix you'll find yourself in if you place confidence in any man,"

exclaimed the poor creature. "Oh, I know all about it. Before marriage they'll promise anything you ask; afterward, they'll take the old woman by the arm, and drag her off to the poorhouse without saying so much as by your leave. I'm not afraid that Mariette would turn me into the street. I've been a sad burden to her, and she has had quite enough of me, I know, but she is a kind-hearted little thing; besides, she's afraid of me; but once married, she will side with her husband, and out I shall have to go. No, there sha'n't be any marriage unless I'm sure of six hundred francs a year."

While Madame Lacombe was indulging in these recriminations, Mariette and Louis exchanged sadly significant glances.

"You hear her, Louis," the girl seemed to say. "Was I not right when I told you that she had been hopelessly embittered by her many misfortunes?"

"Poor Mariette," the young man seemed to say in reply, "how much you must have suffered! And how hard it is to see such tender and saint-like devotion as yours rewarded in such a way!"

"Madame," replied Louis, when the sick woman had ended her tirade, "you may rest a.s.sured that you shall be well provided for. Mariette and I will never forget that you took her in when she had no other home, and whether you prefer to live with us, or to live alone, you shall be made comfortable for life."

"Oh, thank you, Louis, thank you for sharing my feeling for my poor G.o.dmother, my second mother," exclaimed Mariette, gratefully.

And the girl bent over Madame Lacombe to embrace her, but the invalid, pushing her away, said, angrily:

"Can't you see that he is only amusing himself at our expense? Marry you? Pension me for life? Was such a thing ever heard of? He wants to get around me, that is all, and if he is rich, as he says he is, he will only fool you, and some fine day you'll hear of his marriage with another girl, so I forbid him ever to set foot in this house again."

"But you will at least allow me to present myself here in company with my father to make a formal request for Mariette's hand in marriage?"

"Oh, yes, when you come for that purpose it will be when two Sundays come together," answered the old woman, sneeringly.

"It will be to-morrow, Madame Lacombe."

Then, turning to the young girl, he added: