"Bathilde--that is my friend's name--is not yet eighteen years old; her father, now the keeper of a bathing establishment on Rue Dauphine, is an old soldier, who served under Henri IV; he is a man of great courage, and the soul of honor. Bathilde was brought up very strictly in her parents' house; her mother never allowed her to go out, or to have any pleasure whatever.--Excuse me, monsieur le marquis, for going into all these details; I do it because the poor girl who knows nothing is in much greater danger of allowing herself to be deceived than one who is warned by experience. Unfortunately, Bathilde's mother went on a journey, and during her absence her daughter had more liberty. A young man noticed her at the Fire of Saint-Jean, to which I had the unfortunate idea of taking her.--You see, Bathilde is so pretty! there is so much candor and innocence in her beauty that it was easy for a seducer to divine that he could readily deceive her and triumph over her. Well, this young man constantly appeared before my friend's windows; then he sent her, by way of the window, a letter in which he made her the most loving promises; he swore that she should be his wife; he called God to witness the sanctity of his oath.--Ah! monseigneur, poor Bathilde would have considered that she insulted the man she loved if she had not had confidence in such an oath. She was weak, she was guilty! But judge of her despair when her mother returned and discovered her sin! Poor Bathilde was cast out pitilessly, turned into the street at midnight.--Luckily she remembered that I was her friend.--We did not spurn her! we gave her shelter; my father forgave her fault when he saw how miserably unhappy she was.--But Bathilde still hoped that her seducer would keep his promises; she wrote to him, she informed him that she bore within her a pledge of their love; and I undertook to deliver her letter, to see the man in whom her only hope lay.--Ah! monsieur le marquis, he who was the cause of all the harm rejected my petition; he was unmoved by the sufferings of the poor girl whom he had shamefully abused; he ordered me to be turned out of his house, and forbade me ever to appear there again.--Is not that infamous behavior, seigneur? Is it not true that when one has dishonored a poor girl who was as pure and virtuous as she was beautiful, he has no right to be deaf to her prayers and to deny his child?" The old man listened to Ambroisine with interest, and without interrupting her; while she was speaking, he sat with his head resting on his hand, seemingly weighing every word. When she finished, he looked at her with a kindly expression and said: