shall love it just as well, and look upon it as my
child as well as yours."

"I am sure you must be the father. It is impossible the child can be
Petri's, who only knew me once, and then very imperfectly, whilst you and
I have lived in tender love for so long a time."

She wept hot tears.

"Calm yourself, dearest, I implore you! You are right; it cannot be
Petri's child. You know I love you, and I cannot doubt that you are with
child by me and by me alone. If you give me a baby as pretty as yourself,
it will be mine indeed. Calm yourself."

"How can I be calm when you can have such a suspicion?"

We said no more about it; but in spite of my tenderness, my caresses, and
all the trifling cares which bear witness to love, she was often sad and
thoughtful. How many times I reproached myself bitterly for having let
out my silly calculations.

A few days later she gave me a sealed letter, saying,--

"The servant has given me this letter when you were away. I am offended
by his doing so, and I want you to avenge me."

I called the man, and said,--

"Where did you get this letter?"

"From a young man, who is unknown to me. He gave me a crown, and begged
me to give the letter to the lady without your seeing me, and he promised
to give me two crowns more if I brought him a reply tomorrow. I did not
think I was doing wrong, sir, as the lady was at perfect liberty to tell
you."

"That's all very well, but you must go, as the lady, who gave me the
letter unopened, as you can see for yourself, is offended with you."

I called Le Duc, who paid the man and sent him away. I opened the letter,
and found it to be from Petri. Rosalie left my side, not wishing to read
the contents. The letter ran as follows:

"I have seen you, my dear Rosalie. It was just as you were coming out of
the theatre, escorted by the Marquis de Grimaldi, who is my godfather. I
have not deceived you; I was still intending to come and marry you at
Marseilles next spring, as I promised. I love you faithfully, and if you
are still my good Rosalie I am ready to marry you here in the presence of
my kinfolk. If you have done wrong I promise never to speak of it, for I
know that it was I who led you astray. Tell me, I entreat you, whether I
may speak to the Marquis de Grimaldi with regard to you. I am ready to
receive you from the hands of the gentleman with whom you are living,
provided you are not his wife. Be sure, if you are still free, that you
can on