es; that will be
sufficient."

On the fourth day after I despatched this, came a letter in reply, the
handwriting, style, and appearance of which were all superior to what
I had expected. It was from an unmarried sister of Madame Bernois,
who signed herself "Ursule," that being the name by which she had
"professed" formerly in a convent, destroyed in the early days of the
Revolution. The writer, after expressing deep gratitude for the part
I had taken, went on to speak of the subject of my communication.
Her father's infirmities had rendered him bedridden, and so utterly
incapable of affording any help or even counsel that she hesitated
about informing him of the terrible calamity that had befallen them. She
perfectly concurred in the advice given by the doctor, if "only that
it saved her poor sister from a return to a home now associated with
nothing but sorrow, and where, of course, her chances of recovery would
be diminished." These strange expressions puzzled me much, and led me at
first to suppose that Ursule believed I knew more of her sister's story
than I really was acquainted with; but as I read them again, I saw that
they might possibly only have reference to her father's sad condition.
Margot, for so she called her niece, "would, of course, come back to
them;" and she charged me to despatch her, under Lizette's care, by the
diligence, as soon as she was judged sufficiently well to encounter the
fatigue of the journey. With regard to any property or effects belonging
to them, she left all implicitly at my own discretion, believing, as
she said, the same kindness that had hitherto guided me would also here
suggest what was best for the interests of the widow and her child.

Some days of unremitting exertion succeeded the receipt of this letter,
for there was no end to the formalities requisite before I could obtain
admission for the widow into a small _maison de sante_, at Mont Martre.
It was, indeed, a moment at which the authorities were overwhelmed with
business, and many of the public functionaries were new to office,
and totally ignorant of its details. The public, too, were under the
influence of a terror that seemed to paralyze all powers of reason. In
my frequent visits to the commissaire of the "Quarter," when waiting for
hours long in his antechamber, I had abundant opportunity to measure the
extent of the fear that then dominated the mind of the capital, since
every trifling incident evidenced and b