'At least you have some letters from him on the subject, madame?' 'No, sir; as they related only to business, I did not preserve them.' 'I, unhappily, madame, know nothing of all this,' replied the notary; 'if my character was not above all suspicion, all attack, I should say to you, 'The law is open to you-- proceed against me; the judges will have to choose between an honorable man, who for thirty years has enjoyed the esteem of persons of consideration, and the posthumous declaration of a man who, after ruining himself in the most hazardous speculations, found refuge only in suicide.' In short, I say to you now, attack me, madame, if you dare, and the memory of your brother will be dishonored! But I should think that you will nave the good sense to be resigned to a misfortune, doubtless very great, but to which I am a stranger.' 'But, sir, I am a mother; if my fortune is lost to me, my daughter and myself have only the resource of some little furniture; that sold, there remains but misery, sir, appalling misery!' 'You have, unfortunately, been cheated; I can do nothing,' replied the notary. 'Again I tell you, madame, your brother deceived you. If you hesitate between my word and his, proceed against me; the law is open to you--I abide by its decision.' I left the office of the notary in the deepest despair. What remained for me to do in this extremity. Without any document to prove the validity of my claim, convinced of the strict honesty of my brother, confounded by the assurance of M. Ferrand, having no one from whom I could ask advice (you were then traveling), knowing that money was necessary to have the opinion of counsel, and wishing carefully to preserve the little which was left to me, I dared not undertake the commencement of a lawsuit. It was then--" This copy of a letter ended here, for strokes not decipherable, covered some lines which followed: at last, at the bottom, in a corner of the page, Rudolph read the following memorandum: "_Write to the Duchess de Lucenay, for M. de Saint-Remy_." Rudolph remained thoughtful after the perusal of this fragment of a letter, in which he had found two names whose connection struck him. Although the additional infamy with which M. Ferrand appeared to be accused was not proved, this man had shown himself so pitiless towards the unfortunate Morel, so infamous to Louise, his daughter, that a denial of the deposit, protected as he was from certain discovery, did not appear strange, coming from such a wretch. This mother, who claimed a fortune which had so strangely disappeared, no doubt accustomed to the comforts of life, was ruined by a blow so sudden: knowing no one at Paris, as the letter said, what could now be the existence of these two females, deprived of everything, alone in the heart of this immense city?