d
gone down the back street. She told me that the scullion had confessed
that he had taken me letters twice from his young mistress, and that
Madelaine said all the time that she was sure her mistress and I were in
love with each other. They played their parts well.

As soon as I had seen Madame X. C. V. safely home, I went to Madame du
Rumain to tell her what had happened; and I then wrote to my fair
recluse, telling her what had gone on in the world since her
disappearance.

Three or four days after this date, Madame du Rumain gave me the first
letter I received from Mdlle. X. C. V. She spoke in it of the quiet life
she was leading, and her gratitude to me, praised the abbess and the
lay-sister, and gave me the titles of the books they lent her, which she
liked reading. She also informed me what money she had spent, and said
she was happy in everything, almost in being forbidden to leave her room.

I was delighted with her letter, but much more with the abbess's epistle
to Madame du Rumain. She was evidently fond of the girl, and could not
say too much in her praise, saying how sweet-tempered, clever, and
lady-like she was; winding up by assuring her friend that she went to see
her every day.

I was charmed to see the pleasure this letter afforded Madame du
Rumain--pleasure which was increased by the perusal of the letter I had
received. The only persons who were displeased were the poor mother, the
frightful Farsetti, and the old fermier, whose misfortune was talked
about in the clubs, the Palais-Royal, and the coffee-houses. Everybody
put me down for some share in the business, but I laughed at their
gossip, believing that I was quite safe.

All the same, la Popeliniere took the adventure philosophically and made
a one-act play out of it, which he had acted at his little theatre in
Paris. Three months afterwards he got married to a very pretty girl, the
daughter of a Bordeaux alderman. He died in the course of two years,
leaving his widow pregnant with a son, who came into the world six months
after the father's death. The unworthy heir to the rich man had the face
to accuse the widow of adultery, and got the child declared illegitimate
to the eternal shame of the court which gave this iniquitous judgment and
to the grief of every honest Frenchman. The iniquitous nature of the
judgment was afterwards more clearly demonstrated--putting aside the fact
that nothing could be said against the mother's character--by