There was no longer any possible doubt. To open the envelope was to communicate with Ely, to seek to hear from her, to break his word, to betray his friend. Pierre felt all this, and, throwing the tempting letter from him, he remained for a long while his face buried in his hands. To do him justice, he did not try to excuse himself by any sophistry. "I ought not to read this letter," he thought. "I ought not to read it!" And then, after a few moments, after having locked the door like a robber preparing for his work, his face purple with shame, he suddenly tore the envelope open with trembling hand. A letter fell out, followed by a second envelope, sealed and unaddressed. If there had remained the least doubt in Pierre's mind as to the contents of this second envelope, Madame Brion's note would have dissipated it. It read as follows:-- "DEAR SIR--A few weeks ago you received a letter which begged you to leave Cannes, and not to bring a certain misfortune upon some one who was severely tried and who merited your regard. You did not listen to the advice contained in this letter from an unknown friend. The dreaded misfortune has now arrived, and the same friend begs you not to repulse the second appeal as you did the first. The person into whose life you have entered and taken up so large a place never hopes to recover the happiness of which she has been robbed. All that she asks is that you will not condemn her unheard. If you will search in your conscience, you will admit that she has the right to ask it. She has written you a letter which you will find enclosed in this one. Do not send it back, as you did her first, with a harshness that is not natural to you. If you ought not to read it, destroy it at once. But if you do, you will be very cruel to a being who has given you all that has remained in her that is sincere, noble, delicate, and true." Pierre read again and again the simple, awkward sentences that were yet so eloquent to him. He felt in them all the passionate fondness Louise Brion had for Ely. He was touched by them as all unhappy lovers are touched by proofs of devotion shown to their mistress. He felt such a longing to know that she was loved, protected, and cared for, although at the same moment he hated her with the most implacable hatred, although he was ready to condemn her with all the madness of rage. And what devotion could be greater than this shown by the pure-minded Louise in going from weakness to weakness so far as to charge herself with a letter from Ely to Hautefeuille. She had longed to go in person to the Hôtel des Palmes to ask for Pierre, to speak with him, to give him the envelope herself, but she had not dared. Perhaps she would have failed had she done so, whereas this indirect expedient conquered the young man's scruples. The emotions that the simple note had aroused left him powerless to contend with the flood of loving souvenirs that swept over him. He opened the second envelope and read:--