Three days afterward a letter was brought from the post-office, and Father Bonneville examined the seal with a smile. It had not been considered inviolable, that was clear; for either at the post-office or in the hotel, they had thought fit to open the letter without even taking the decent precaution of resealing it again. The contents of the epistle I saw, and they certainly puzzled me a good deal when first Father Bonneville gave the paper into my hand. The letter began, “My dear Father,” and went on in the usual strain of a child writing to a parent, telling him how much grieved she was to hear that he had been sick in Paris, expressing fears that he had over-fatigued himself in seeking for news of her dear husband, and informing him that she would soon be in Paris herself, with her little girl, to pursue the inquiry. The letter throughout was filled with a great number of the cant expressions of republicanism, then common, and it ended with declaring that if the writer’s dear husband was dead, she could console herself with the thought that he had died in defense of his country, though she could not bear the idea that he might be lingering ill of his wounds without any affectionate hands to tend him. The letter was addressed to “Citizen Jerome Charlier,” was dated from a provincial town in Poitou, and was signed “Clarisse Bonfin.” Father Bonneville smiled as he marked the expression of my face in reading the letter; and when I had done, he asked me if I knew who these relations of his were. I replied in the negative, and he answered, nodding his head, “Some whom you know very well; but you must remember, Louis, you are only to know them as my daughter and granddaughter, and as your own aunt and cousin. Call the lady ‘Aunt Clarisse,’ or ‘Aunt Bonfin,’ and the little girl, ‘Mariette Bonfin.’” The last words threw a ray of light upon the whole affair—and I was delighted. There is nothing, I believe, that children love so much as a little mystery, especially boys of thirteen or fourteen; but I had the additional satisfaction of having to play a part in the drama—a task always charming to a child brought up in France. I acted my character rather well, I flatter myself; and when Father Bonneville, well knowing that the letter had been read before it reached him, sent me to talk to our good hostess about rooms for our expected relations, I gave the buxom dame quite enough of Aunt Bonfin and Cousin Mariette, and described them both so accurately, that she could have no doubt of my personal acquaintance with these supposed connections. She thought it best, however, to deal with Citizen Charlier himself in regard to the apartments to be engaged, and visited him in his room for that purpose. The old gentleman was very taciturn, and seemed to think it a part of his character to drive a hard bargain.