"Keep the money," said the farmer's wife; "keep it, my child; that excellent man you saved from the robbers paid for everything; in fact, he paid us too much. We didn't need that to be kind to you; you're so pretty and sweet and unfortunate! Poor little woman! I can make a guess at your situation. Some man abused your innocence and inexperience; he deceived you, and then dropped you! That's the story of most young girls who haven't got any father and mother to protect 'em from the snares those fine fellows lay for 'em. Don't cry, my child; I'm a long way from blaming you; you're less to blame than other women! But the man who deserted you's the one as ought to be punished. The idea of leaving you, in the condition you're in! he must be a hard-hearted wretch!" When she heard that, Sister Anne made a hasty gesture as if to prevent the farmer's wife from saying any more; she put her finger on her lips and shook her head vigorously, evidently to deny what the woman had said. "Well, well!" said the farmer's wife; "she don't want me to speak ill of him! she still loves him! That's just like a woman: always ready to make excuses for the man that does 'em the most harm. But don't you be worried about the future, my child; stay with us; we'll love you like our own daughter and take good care of you. You're out of reach of want forever here." Sister Anne pressed her hand affectionately, but her eyes refused to make a promise which her heart had no intention of keeping. Frédéric was still supreme in that ardent heart, and the girl did not renounce the hope of finding him. A short time after the stranger's departure, Sister Anne, remembering that he had given her a paper, took it from the purse and carried it to the farmer's wife, being anxious to know what was written on it. The woman read: _Comte de Montreville_, _Rue de Provence_, _Paris_. There was nothing else on the paper, and Sister Anne had no suspicion that it was Frédéric's father's name, for her lover had never mentioned his family name in her presence. But she was overjoyed when the farmer's wife read _Paris;_ she tried to make her understand that that was where she wanted to go; then she carefully replaced the paper in the purse. "That's the gentleman's address," said her hostess; "I tell you, he ain't like most men; he's grateful, and he won't ever forget what you did for him. I'm sure he'd give you a kind reception, if you should go to Paris; but what would you do in that big city? Take my advice, my child, and stay with us; you'll be happier here." Sister Anne was overjoyed to possess that paper with the name of the city to which she meant to go some day. With it, she could make herself understood, and she thanked heaven for that gift, which would enable her to find that wonderful Paris where she hoped to find her lover as well.