"You lie!" cried the old woman vehemently. "I tell you she read your letter; there it is now, clutched in her fingers! Heavens! what a flood of tears she shed over that rag! Go out of my sight, you worthless rake! We were very stupid indeed to refuse the good offer made to us. Yet, I told Mariette virtue brought little reward in this world. And now she is dying, and I am out into the street, without fire or shelter, without bread or anything, for everything will go for back rent. Happily," she added, with a grim smile, "I have still a small measure of charcoal left--and charcoal is the deliverance of poor people from misery." "My God! this is horrible!" moaned Louis, unable to restrain his tears. "I swear that we are the victims of some terrible mistake, madame--Mariette! Mariette! speak to me!--It is I--Louis!" "Do you want to kill her on the spot?" cried the exasperated woman, trying to push him away. "If she recovers consciousness, the sight of you will finish her." "Heaven be praised!" murmured Louis, resisting the woman's efforts and bending over the girl. "See, her hands are relaxing and her eyes opening--Mariette! it is I, Louis! do you hear me?" The girl's eyes roamed around the room for a moment, then slowly turned on the young man, who still leaned anxiously over her. Soon an expression of joyful surprise spread itself over her pale features and she attempted to raise her head, supporting herself on her elbow. "Louis!" she murmured, feebly. "Ah! I thought I would never see you again--" Then as the sad reality returned to her mind, she threw herself in Mme. Lacombe's arms and burst into tears. "Ah! godmother," she sobbed, "he comes to say farewell--it is all over!" "There now, didn't I tell you this would finish her!" cried Mme. Lacombe, fiercely. "Go, I say! and never let me see your face again!" "Mariette! in mercy listen to me!" pleaded Louis. "I did not come to say farewell, but to tell you that I love you more than ever." "Heavens! can it be true?" murmured the girl, starting up. "We have been the victims of some error, Mariette," continued the young man. "I have never ceased to love you for a single moment; no, never. During my absence, I had but one thought, one desire; it was to see you again and fix the day of our marriage, as I told you in my letter--" "Your letter!" interrupted the girl, sadly. "Have you already forgotten what you wrote, Louis? Here--read it." "He can deny his own writing, of course," growled Mme. Lacombe, as the young man hastily placed the torn pieces together; "and you'll be stupid enough to believe him." "This is what I wrote, Mariette," said Louis, when he had succeeded in his difficult task. "My Dear Mariette: