"My dear child, pray recover your composure," entreated the scribe. "You need fear neither indiscretion nor ridicule with me. The confidence reposed in me by persons whom chance or misfortune has deprived of the benefits of education, has always been considered as sacred to me." "Oh! thank you, monsieur; you relieve me of half my grief by understanding and excusing my embarrassment," said Mariette, gratefully. "Oh! yes," she went on with a sigh, "it is very cruel to know neither how to read nor write; but alas! it is not my fault." "Ah! my poor child, like many others who come to me, it is the want of opportunity, and not the absence of good will, which has deprived you of knowledge. Some are forced to assume the care of younger brothers and sisters while the parents work; others are sent out as apprentices at an early age--" "I was placed as an apprentice at the age of nine," sighed Mariette, "and until that time I was retained at home to care for a little brother, who died shortly before my parents." "Poor child, your story is similar to those of your companions that come to me. But why did you not try to gain some education when you had finished your apprenticeship?" "Where would I find the time, monsieur? I work almost day and night to provide for my godmother and myself--" "Time, alas! is the bread of the poor!" broke in the old man; "they must starve to death or live in ignorance." He paused for a moment, then asked with renewed interest: "You speak of your godmother; have you no other relative?" "No, Monsieur," replied the girl sadly. "But forgive me, I am taking up your time uselessly instead of coming to the purpose of my visit." "My time could not be better employed than in listening to you, my child; for I am sure you are a good and honest girl. Now let us see about the letter. Will you merely state what you wish to write, or do you prefer to dictate to me?" "I prefer to dictate the letter." "Very well, I am ready," declared the old man, adjusting his glasses and bending over his desk that he might not increase his pretty client's confusion. With down-cast eyes, and after a moment of hesitation, Mariette began: "Monsieur Louis--" At the name of Louis the old man started, but said quietly: "It is written, my child." Nothwithstanding her confidence in the old man, the girl instinctively shrank from revealing her inmost thoughts to a stranger. But after a momentary pause, she went on hesitatingly: "I have received no word from you, and I am very sad. Yet, you had promised to write during your voyage--" "During your voyage," repeated the writer, who had become suddenly thoughtful. "A strange coincidence," he said to himself, with growing anxiety. "His name is Louis, and he is away." "I hope that you are well," continued the girl, "and that your silence is not caused by illness, for my grief would be doubled."