so dreaded by the framemaker, had been
arranged by Madame Plumet unknown to all, and the damning
inscription was also in her handwriting.
"I need not add that Mademoiselle Charnot, upset by the scene, had a
momentary attack of faintness. However, she soon regained her usual
firm and dignified demeanor, which seems to show that she is a woman
of energy.
"But the interest of the story does not cease here. I think the
betrothal is definitely at an end. A betrothal is always a
difficult thing to renew, and after the publicity which attended the
rupture of this one, I do not see how they can make it up again.
One thing I feel sure of is, that Mademoiselle Jeanne Charnot will
never change her name to Madame Dufilleul.
"Do not, however, exaggerate your own chances. They will be less
than you think for some time yet. I do not believe that a young
girl who has thus been wounded and deceived can forget all at once.
There is even the possibility of her never forgetting--of living
with her sorrow, preferring certain peace of mind, and the simple
joys of filial devotion, to all those dreams of married life by
which so many simple-hearted girls have been cruelly taken in.
"In any case do not think of returning yet, for I know you are
capable of any imprudence. Stay where you are, examine your
documents, and wait.
"My mother and I are passing through a bitter trial. She is ill, I
may say seriously ill. I would sooner bear the illness than my
present anxiety.
"Your friend,
"SYLVESTRE LAMPRON.
"P. S.--Just as I was about to fasten up this letter, I got a note
from Madame Plumet to tell me that Monsieur and Mademoiselle Charnot
have left Paris. She does not know where they have gone."
I became completely absorbed over this letter. Some passages I read a
second time; and the state of agitation into which it threw me did not at
once pass away. I remained for an indefinite time without a notion of
what was going on around me, entirely wrapped up in the past or the
future.
The Italian attendant brought me back to the present with a jerk of his
elbow. He was replacing the last register in the huge drawers of the
table. He and I were alone. My colleagues had left, and our first sitting
had come to an end without my assistance, though before my eyes. They
could not have gone far, so, somewhat ashamed of my
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