"She used to work in a mattress factory, monsieur, and one day she ran a long, crooked needle into her hand. The wound became inflamed from want of care, for my godmother had not time to give it the attention it should have had, and the doctors were obliged to cut her arm off. The wound reopens now and then, and causes her a great deal of pain." "Poor woman!" murmured the scrivener, absently. "As for the lung trouble she has," continued Mariette, "many women who follow that trade contract the disease, the doctors say, from breathing the unwholesome dust from the old mattresses they make over. My godmother is bent almost double, and nearly every night she has such terrible fits of coughing that I have to hold her for hours, sometimes." "And your godmother has nothing but your earnings to depend on?" "She cannot work now, monsieur, of course." "Such devotion on your part is very generous, I must say." "I am only doing my duty, monsieur. My godmother took care of me after my parents died, and paid for a three years' apprenticeship for me. But for her, I should not be in a position to earn my living, so it is only right that she should profit now by the assistance she gave me years ago." "But you must have to work very hard to support her and yourself?" "Yes; I have to work from fifteen to eighteen hours a day, monsieur." "And at night you have to nurse her instead of taking the rest you so much need?" "Who else would nurse her, monsieur?" "But why doesn't she try to get into some hospital?" "They will not take her into a hospital because the lung trouble she has is incurable. Besides, I could not desert her like that." "Ah, well, my child, I see that I was not mistaken. You are a good, noble-hearted girl, there is no doubt of it," added the old man, holding out his hand to Mariette. As he did, either through awkwardness, or intentionally, the scrivener overturned the inkstand that stood on his desk in such a way that a good part of the contents ran over the letter, which lacked only the address to complete it. "Good heavens! How unfortunate, the letter is covered with ink, monsieur!" exclaimed Mariette. "How awkward in me!" responded the old man, with a disgusted air. "Still, it doesn't matter very much, after all. It was a short letter. I write very rapidly, and it will not take me more than ten minutes to copy it for you, my child. At the same time, I will read it aloud so you can see if there is any change you would like to make in it." "I am truly sorry to give you so much trouble, monsieur." "It serves me right, as it was all my fault," responded the old man, cheerfully.