rnal, she
foresaw vaguely, that the substitution of this sealed letter for the
manuscript would have fatal consequences for Mother Bunch, for she
remembered Rodin's declaration, that "it was time to finish with the
young sempstress."

What did he mean by those words? How would the letter that she was
charged to put in the place of the diary, contribute to bring about this
result? she did not know--but she understood that the clear-sighted
devotion of the hunchback justly alarmed the enemies of Mdlle. de
Cardoville, and that she (Florine) herself daily risked having her
perfidy detected by the young needlewoman. This last fear put an end to
the hesitations of Florine; she placed the letter behind the box, and,
hiding the manuscript under her apron, cautiously withdrew from the
chamber.

CHAPTER XLVII.

THE DIARY CONTINUED.

Returned into her own room, some hours after she had concealed there the
manuscript abstracted from Mother Bunch's apartment, Florine yielded to
her curiosity, and determined to look through it. She soon felt a growing
interest, an involuntary emotion, as she read more of these private
thoughts of the young sempstress. Among many pieces of verse, which all
breathed a passionate love for Agricola--a love so deep, simple, and
sincere, that Florine was touched by it, and forgot the author's
deformity--among many pieces of verse, we say, were divers other
fragments, thoughts, and narratives, relating to a variety of facts. We
shall quote some of them, in order to explain the profound impression
that their perusal made upon Florine.

Fragments from the Diary.

"This is my birthday. Until this evening, I had cherished a foolish hope.
Yesterday, I went down to Mrs. Baudoin's, to dress a little wound she had
on her leg. When I entered the room, Agricola was there. No doubt he was
talking of me to his mother, for they stopped when I came in, and
exchanged a meaning smile. In passing by the drawers, I saw a pasteboard
box, with a pincushion-lid, and I felt myself blushing with joy, as I
thought this little present was destined for me, but I pretended not to
see it. While I was on my knees before his mother, Agricola went out. I
remarked that he took the little box with him. Never has Mrs. Baudoin
been more tender and motherly than she was that morning. It appeared to
me that she went to bed earlier than usual. 'It is to send me away
sooner,' said I to myself, 'that I may enjoy the surprise Agricol