"I should at once have told you, but from unwillingness to endanger the life of a poor woman who has confided in me. I got the jewel from the Abbess de Vatteville herself, and it is her last and only resource." And now M. Simon proved, by unquestionable documents, that notwithstanding his more than humble appearance, he was a man of wealth and respectability, and received the apologies which were tendered, together with assurances that Madame Vatteville's secret was safe with one who, he begged to say, "knew how to respect misfortune, whenever and however presented to his notice." "But what is the jewel worth?" asked M. Simon. "Millions, sir! and neither I nor any one else in the trade here could purchase it, unless as a joint concern, and in case of a coronation or a marriage in one of the royal houses of Europe, for such an occasion alone could make it not a risk to buy it. But, meanwhile, I will, if you wish, mention it to some of the trade." "I am in no hurry," said Simon, almost bewildered by the possession of such a treasure. "I may as well wait for some such occasion, and, in the mean time, can make any necessary advances to the abbess. Perhaps I may call on you again." The first day of the year 1795 had just dawned, and there was a thick and chilling fog. The abbess and her faithful servant felt this day more than usually depressed, for fifteen months had now elapsed since the 1500 francs had been received for the ruby, and there now remained provision only for a few days longer. "I have got no answer from M. Simon," said the abbess; and in giving utterance to her own thought, she was replying to what was at that moment passing through Margaret's mind. "I fear he has not been able to get more for the ruby than he thinks fair interest for the money he advanced to me." "It is most likely," said Margaret; and both relapsed into their former desponding silence. "What a dreary New-Year's Day!" resumed Madame de Vatteville, in a melancholy tone. "Oh, why can I not help you, dear mistress?" exclaimed Margaret, suddenly starting from her reverie. "Cheerfully would I lay down my life for you!" "And why can I not return in any way your devoted attachment, my poor Margaret?" At this instant, two loud and hurried knocks at the door startled them both from their seats: and it was with a trembling hand Margaret opened it to admit the old porter, and a servant with a letter in his hand. "Thank you, thank you, M. Thiebaut: this letter is for my mistress." But the inquisitive old man either did not or would not understand Margaret's hint to him to retire, and Madame de Vatteville was obliged to tell him to leave the room. "Not a penny to bless herself with, though she has come to a better apartment!" muttered he, enraged at the disappointment to his curiosity--"and yet as proud as an aristocrat!" The abbess approached the casement, broke the seal with trembling hand, and read as follows: