that bound them, but had only
just traced out one that she thought was from Germany, when a
servant-man came in, and, with the start he gave her, she dropped the
letters, which he picked up, swearing at her for having untied and
disarranged them. She told him that she believed there was a letter
there for her mistress; but he only swore the more, saying, that if
there was it was no business of hers, or of his either, for that he had
the strictest orders always to take all letters that arrived during his
master's absence into the private sitting-room of the latter--a room
into which I had never entered, although it opened out of my husband's
dressing-room.

I asked Amante if she had not conquered and brought me this letter. No,
indeed, she replied, it was almost as much as her life was worth to
live among such a set of servants: it was only a month ago that Jacques
had stabbed Valentin for some jesting talk. Had I never missed
Valentin--that handsome young lad who carried up the wood into my
salon? Poor fellow! he lies dead and cold now, and they said in the
village he had put an end to himself, but those of the household knew
better. Oh! I need not be afraid; Jacques was gone, no one knew where;
but with such people it was not safe to upbraid or insist. Monsieur
would be at home the next day, and it would not be long to wait.

But I felt as if I could not exist till the next day, without the
letter. It might be to say that my father was ill, dying--he might cry
for his daughter from his death-bed! In short, there was no end to the
thoughts and fancies that haunted me. It was of no use for Amante to
say that, after all, she might be mistaken--that she did not read
writing well--that she had but a glimpse of the address; I let my
coffee cool, my food all became distasteful, and I wrung my hands with
impatience to get at the letter, and have some news of my dear ones at
home. All the time, Amante kept her imperturbable good temper, first
reasoning, then scolding. At last she said, as if wearied out, that if
I would consent to make a good supper, she would see what could be done
as to our going to monsieur's room in search of the letter, after the
servants were all gone to bed. We agreed to go together when all was
still, and look over the letters; there could be no harm in that; and
yet, somehow, we were such cowards we dared not do it openly and in the
face of the household.

Presently my supper came up--partridges, b