After a brief glimpse of spring, the wind and rain had taken possession of Grenoble. One could hardly distinguish the neighboring mountains under the leaden sky. Thus the trip to Saint Martin was delayed, although Elizabeth was anxious to go away, and was eager for the open air. Encouraged by the change in the weather, she began her preparations on the 1st of May. A letter, which she received on the 8th, addressed to Mme. Albert Derize, née Molay-Norrois, Boulevard des Adieux, from whence it came back to her, altered her plans. It was a letter with the English postmark, with the address in a handwriting not entirely unknown to her, and which at once disquieted her. She held it in her hand defiantly before opening it, and did not decide to break the seal without a presentiment of evil. She was not mistaken: the foreign paper, those straight flowing letters, which she had seen before, had already broken up her life. She turned the pages which were numerous, and read the signature: "Anne de Sézery." Then she let the letter drop. How could she have had the audacity to write to her? By what right did she inflict such an insult upon her? Crushed, she sat down, but involuntarily looked on the ground. At last she bent over and picked up the paper which lay there. A few months ago she would have decided not to read it. But she had nothing more to hope, nor to fear. In certain excesses of sorrow, we lose the narrow sense of our dignity which we reserve for our intimate life alone. She began reading this strange letter with suspicion and aversion, ready at the least stinging word to discontinue and not to finish it. She read to the end without stopping. "LONDON, 6th May, 1907. "Madame: "When you receive this letter I shall have left for a far distant country, where no one can follow me and from which I shall never return. That is my excuse for addressing you, and it is--believe me--your obligation to read this letter in its entirety. "As a result of living in England, I have acquired the habit of candor. I therefore did not want an intermediary between us, for fear of wounding you. The circumstances in which we find ourselves are beyond the pettiness of delicacy, and demand courage, above all things. I must have more than you. If I speak to you of certain things of the past, it is that they may be useful to you in the future. If you have to make a decision, you must be informed.