No. 6.--"I can hardly recover from my surprise. You back again! And back for my sake! Back, because your desire to see me left you no rest! Oh God! What is to become of it all! You are a rich nobleman--I am a poor girl, who, whatever my ancestors once may have been, must now earn my daily bread by hard work. My judgment tells me that all this can only bring wretchedness upon me; that I ought to avoid you, flee from you. What did I tell you yesterday? What did I promise? Oh, give me back my promise! I cannot, I must not see you. I must never see you again. I beseech you, leave the city. You must do it if you really love me. Farewell. Thousand thanks! "Your Marie." "What eight days' absence must have done!" said Albert, lighting his cigar again, which had gone out during his perusal of the last note. "'Your Marie!' How the brave Harald must have chuckled when he read this tearful epistle--here are the traces of the tears now. But let us go on." No. 7.--"You must take back the costly jewels which an unknown man left here to-day. How have I deserved it, that you should think so meanly of me? You know that I love you in spite of my reason, which reproaches me constantly for it; I have not been able to conceal it from you any longer, nor did I wish to do so; but you ought at least to leave me the consolation that my love is pure and disinterested. These costly rubies, this red gold, it burns in my hand like coals of fire--leave me as you found me! If the poor simple girl could win your love, you see yourself that poverty and simplicity are perfectly compatible with love. "M. M." "Prettily expressed," said Albert, putting the letter on top of the others, "but very stupid! Poverty and love are as compatible as fire and water. I should like to know the burning love that would not be extinguished if a bucket of poverty were poured on it! Pshaw! I ought to know better. I think I would be capable of marrying poor little Marguerite if I were a dignitary with an ample income guaranteed by the State; but as I am nothing but a poor devil, with a famous appetite and a real patent stomach, it would be a clear case of suicide if I were to share the scanty ration with another person. Love! Nonsense! Love is a most acceptable dessert after the dinner of life. A good dinner without a dessert--_bon!_ a dinner with a dessert--still better; but a dessert without a dinner--well, women may be able to do even with that, but it does not suit my constitution. I wonder whether sweet Marie, if she is alive, as I fervently hope, does not sometimes regret having rejected the 'costly rubies and the red gold' for the benefit of other young ladies, who deserved them less well? In the next letter the virtuous little damsel becomes quite rampant."