d, leaving the paper, ran to the window; but the chevalier was gone;
satisfied, no doubt, of Mirza's skill, he had retired into his room.

Bathilde was very much embarrassed; she had seen, at the first glance,
that the paper contained three or four lines of writing; but, in spite
of the sudden friendship which her neighbor seemed to have acquired for
Mirza, it was evidently not to Mirza that he was writing letters--it
must, therefore, be to her. What should she do? Go and tear it up? That
would be noble and proper; but, even if it were possible to do such a
thing, the paper in which the sugar had been wrapped might have been
written on some time, and then the action would be ridiculous in the
highest degree, and it would show, at any rate, that she thought about
the letter. Bathilde resolved then, to leave things as they were. The
chevalier could not know that she was at home, since he had not seen
her; he could not, therefore, draw any deduction from the fact that the
paper remained on the floor. She therefore continued to work, or rather
to reflect, hidden behind her curtain, as the chevalier, probably, was
behind his.

In about an hour, of which it must be confessed Bathilde passed
three-quarters with her eyes fixed on the paper, Nanette entered.
Bathilde, without moving, told her to shut the window--Nanette obeyed;
but in returning she saw the paper.

"What is that?" asked she, stooping down to pick it up.

"Nothing," answered Bathilde quickly, forgetting that Nanette could not
read, "only a paper which has fallen out of my pocket." Then, after an
instant's pause, and with a visible effort, "and which you may throw on
the fire," continued she.----"But perhaps it may be something important;
see what it is, at all events, mademoiselle." And Nanette presented the
letter to Bathilde.

The temptation was too strong to resist. Bathilde cast her eyes on the
paper, affecting an air of indifference as well as she could, and read
as follows:

"They say you are an orphan: I have no parents; we are, then, brother
and sister before God. This evening I run a great danger; but I hope to
come out of it safe and sound if my sister--Bathilde--will pray for her
brother Raoul."

"You are right," said Bathilde, in a moved voice, and taking the paper
from the hands of Nanette, "that paper is more important than I
thought;" and she put D'Harmental's letter in the pocket of her apron.
Five minutes after Nanette, who came in twenty