"To whom is this letter to be addressed, my child?" "To M. Louis Richard. General delivery, Dreux." "I thought as much," secretly groaned the old man, as he prepared to write the address Mariette had just given him. If the young girl had not been so deeply preoccupied she could hardly have failed to notice the change in the expression of the scrivener's face,--a change which became still more noticeable when he discovered for a certainty for whom this missive was intended. It was with a look of positive anger now that he furtively watched Mariette, and he seemed unable to make up his mind to write the address she had just given him, for after having written upon the envelope the words, "To Monsieur," he dropped his pen, and said to his client, forcing a smile in order to conceal alike his resentment and his apprehensions: "Now, my child, though this is the first time we ever saw each other, it seems to me you feel you can trust me a little already." "That is true, monsieur. Before I came here, I feared I should not have the courage to dictate my letter to an entire stranger, but your manner was so kind that I soon got over my embarrassment." "I certainly see no reason why you should feel the slightest embarrassment. If I were your own father, I could not find a word of fault with the letter you have just written to--to M. Louis, and if I were not afraid of abusing the confidence you say that you have in me, I should ask--but no, that would be too inquisitive." "You would ask me what, monsieur?" "Who this M. Louis Richard is?" "That is no secret, monsieur. M. Louis is the clerk of a notary whose office is in the same building as the shop in which I work. It was in this way that we became acquainted on the sixth of May, just one year ago to-day." "Ah! I understand now why you laid such stress upon that date in your letter." "Yes, monsieur." "And you love each other, I suppose,--don't blush so, child,--and expect to marry some day, probably?" "Yes, monsieur." "And M. Louis's family consents to the marriage?" "M. Louis has no one but his father to consult, and we hope he will not refuse his consent." "And the young man's father, what kind of a person is he?" "The best of fathers, M. Louis says, and bears his present poverty with great courage and cheerfulness, though he used to be very well off. M. Louis and his father are as poor now, though, as my godmother and I are. That makes us hope that he will not oppose our marriage." "And your godmother, my child,--it seems to me she must be a great trial to you." "When one suffers all the time, and has never had anything but misfortunes all one's life, it is very natural that one should not be very sweet tempered." "Your godmother is an invalid, then?" "She has lost one of her hands, monsieur, and she has a lung trouble that has confined her to the bed for more than a year." "Lost her hand,--how?"