Since Mariette's departure, and particularly since he had read the letter received from Dreux that morning, the old man had been reflecting with increasing anxiety on the effect this secret which he had discovered by the merest chance would have upon certain projects of his own. He was thus engaged when he saw the same young girl suddenly reappear at the door of his shop, whereupon, without concealing his surprise, though he did not betray the profound uneasiness his client's speedy return caused him, the scrivener said: "What is it, my child? I did not expect you back so soon." "Here is a letter from M. Louis, sir," said the young girl, drawing the precious missive from her bosom, "and I have come to ask you to read it to me." Trembling with anxiety and curiosity, the girl waited as the scrivener glanced over the brief letter, concealing with only a moderate degree of success the genuine consternation its contents excited; then, uttering an exclamation of sorrowful indignation, he, to Mariette's intense bewilderment and dismay, tore the precious letter in several pieces. "Poor child! poor child!" he exclaimed, throwing the fragments under his desk, after having crumpled them in his hands. "What are you doing, monsieur?" cried Mariette, pale as death. "Ah, my poor child!" repeated the old man, with an air of deep compassion. "Good heavens! Has any misfortune befallen M. Louis?" murmured the girl, clasping her hands imploringly. "No, my child, no; but you must forget him." "Forget him?" "Yes; believe me, it would be much better for you to renounce all hope, so far as he is concerned." "My God! What has happened to him?" "There are some things that are much harder to bear than ignorance, and yet I was pitying you a little while ago because you could not read." "But what did he say in the letter, monsieur?" "Your marriage is no longer to be thought of." "Did M. Louis say that?" "Yes, at the same time appealing to your generosity of heart." "M. Louis bids me renounce him, and says he renounces me?" "Alas! yes, my poor child. Come, come, summon up all your courage and resignation." Mariette, who had turned as pale as death, was silent for a moment, while big tears rolled down her cheeks; then, stooping suddenly, she gathered up the crumpled fragments of the letter and handed them to the scrivener, saying, in a husky voice: "I at least have the courage to hear all. Put the pieces together and read the letter to me, if you please, monsieur." "Do not insist, my child, I beg of you." "Read it, monsieur, in pity read it!" "But--" "I must know the contents of this letter, however much the knowledge may pain me." "I have already told you the substance of it. Spare yourself further pain."