She was feeding the little one when the post came in; they could not afford a wet-nurse now, and the child was being brought up by hand. Her state of mind may be imagined, and David’s also, when he had been roused to read the letter, for David had been at work all night, and only lay down at daybreak. _Lucien to Eve._ “PARIS, August 29th. “MY DEAR SISTER,--Two days ago, at five o’clock in the morning, one of God’s noblest creatures breathed her last in my arms; she was the one woman on earth capable of loving me as you and mother and David love me, giving me besides that unselfish affection, something that neither mother nor sister can give--the utmost bliss of love. Poor Coralie, after giving up everything for my sake, may perhaps have died for me--for me, who at this moment have not the wherewithal to bury her. She could have solaced my life; you, and you alone, my dear good angels, can console me for her death. God has forgiven her, I think, the innocent girl, for she died like a Christian. Oh, this Paris! Eve, Paris is the glory and the shame of France. Many illusions I have lost here already, and I have others yet to lose, when I begin to beg for the little money needed before I can lay the body of my angel in consecrated earth. “Your unhappy brother, “Lucien.” “P. S. I must have given you much trouble by my heedlessness; some day you will know all, and you will forgive me. You must be quite easy now; a worthy merchant, a M. Camusot, to whom I once caused cruel pangs, promised to arrange everything, seeing that Coralie and I were so much distressed.” “The sheet is still moist with his tears,” said Eve, looking at the letter with a heart so full of sympathy that something of the old love for Lucien shone in her eyes. “Poor fellow, he must have suffered cruelly if he has been loved as he says!” exclaimed Eve’s husband, happy in his love; and these two forgot all their own troubles at this cry of a supreme sorrow. Just at that moment Marion rushed in. “Madame,” she panted, “here they are! Here they are!” “Who is here?” “Doublon and his men, bad luck to them! Kolb will not let them come in; they have come to sell us up.” “No, no, they are not going to sell you up, never fear,” cried a voice in the next room, and Petit-Claud appeared upon the scene. “I have just lodged notice of appeal. We ought not to sit down under a judgment that attaches a stigma of bad faith to us. I did not think it worth while to fight the case here. I let Cachan talk to gain time for you; I am sure of gaining the day at Poitiers----” “But how much will it cost to win the day?” asked Mme. Séchard. “Fees if you win, one thousand francs if we lose our case.” “Oh, dear!” cried poor Eve; “why, the remedy is worse than the disease!”