heard from
my brother-in-law at last. I recognize his hand-writing." And then the
door closed again.

Standing silent and motionless in the middle of her room, Marguerite
listened with that feverish anxiety that excites the perceptive
faculties to the utmost degree. An inward voice, stronger than reason,
told her that this letter threatened her happiness, her future, perhaps
her life! But how could she convince herself of the truth of this
presentiment? If she had followed her first impulse, she would have
rushed into Madame Leon's room and have snatched the letter from her
hands. But if she did this, she would betray herself, and prove that she
was not the dupe they supposed her to be, and this supposition on the
part of her enemies constituted her only chance of salvation.

If she could only watch Madame Leon as she read the letter, and gain
some information from the expression of her face; but this seemed
impossible, for the keyhole was blocked up by the key, which had been
left in the lock on the other side. Suddenly a crack in the partition
attracted her attention, and finding that it extended through the wall,
she realized she might watch what was passing in the adjoining room. So
she approached the spot on tiptoe, and, with bated breath, stooped and
looked in.

In her impatience to learn the contents of her letter, Madame Leon
had not gone back to bed. She had broken the seal, and was reading the
missive, standing barefooted in her night-dress, directly opposite the
little crevice. She read line after line, and word after word, and
her knitted brows and compressed lips suggested deep concentration of
thought mingled with discontent. At last she shrugged her shoulders,
muttered a few inaudible words, and laid the open letter upon the
rickety chest of drawers, which, with two chairs and a bed, constituted
the entire furniture of her apartment.

"My God!" exclaimed Marguerite, with bated breath, "if she would only
forget it!"

But she did not forget it. She began to dress, and when she had finished
she read the letter again, and then placed it carefully in one of the
drawers, which she locked, putting the key in her pocket.

"I shall never know, then," thought Marguerite; "no, I shall never know.
But I must know--and I will!" she added vehemently.

From that moment a firm determination to obtain that letter took
possession of her mind; and so deeply was she occupied in seeking for
some means to surmount the