"Dear child! be calm. Listen to me; you have too much good sense not to understand me.--Now, Bathilde, let us admit that the count loves you at this moment; in the first place, his love will very soon pass away. But even if it should be more sincere than all the loves that he has promised, sworn, to other women, how would that help you? You know perfectly well that you can never become the wife of a count, of a great nobleman." "But you see that in his letter he says that he cares nothing for rank and fortune." "In his letter he has put down everything that was likely to turn your head!--Ah! Bathilde, do the great nobles ever marry us poor girls, the daughters of humble tradesmen? When we are pretty, they make love to us and try to seduce us, and they are not sparing of lies and promises to effect that purpose! But if we are unfortunate enough to listen to them, they very soon abandon us, leaving us nothing but shame and regret.--What I say is absolutely true, Bathilde. You know perfectly well that I desire nothing but your happiness. But if you listen to Comte Léodgard, you will be unhappy, you will be ruined!--Think of your father, who is so proud of you. Think of your mother, who has watched over you so carefully. They would curse you!" "Oh! do not say any more! Yes, you are right; I was mad! But you bring me back to myself.--Tell me how I must act; I will do whatever you wish." Ambroisine embraced her friend again, and said: "Dear Bathilde, you suffer at this moment, because I am tearing away illusions that made you happy. But I do it so that you may enjoy truer happiness in the future. Listen: first of all, you must not appear on this balcony for a week, at least; nay, you must not even come into this room, for you would look into the street in spite of yourself. Resume your usual mode of life, work as if your mother were by your side.--In the second place, you must--you must not read this letter any more; and, in order to be certain of not yielding to temptation, you must burn it." "Burn his letter! the only token I shall have of his love--the only souvenir of him when he has ceased to think of me! Oh, no! let me keep it, Ambroisine, I implore you! I will do everything that you have said; but don't burn his letter!" And Bathilde almost fell at her friend's knees. Ambroisine raised her and replied: "How do you expect to be cured if you keep that paper with you, in which he says such sweet things--things that turn the heads of us poor women? You will read it every day, and it will simply keep your grief alive." "Very well! take it, Ambroisine, carry it away, but keep it for me; and later--in a very long time--when I am cured, if I ever can be cured, then you will give the letter back to me, and I shall be very glad to read it again." "Very well; then I will take the letter away." "But you won't burn it, will you?" "No, I promise." "And you will take good care of it? you will not lose it?"