"Here, my pretty little woman," she said to Rigolette, who was looking at sundry articles with the eye of a connoisseur, "this is the second-hand bargain I told you of: two bed furnitures and bedding complete, and as good as new. If you would like a small old _secretaire_ very cheap, here is one (and Mother Bouvard pointed to one). I had it in the same lot. I do not usually buy furniture, but I could not refuse this, for the poor people of whom I had it appeared to be so very unhappy! Poor lady! it was the sale of this piece of furniture which seemed to cut her to the very heart. I dare say it was a family piece of 'furniture.'" At these words, and whilst the shopkeeper was settling with Rigolette as to the prices of the various articles of purchase, Rodolph was attentively looking at the _secretaire_ which Mother Bouvard had pointed out. It was one of those ancient pieces of rosewood furniture, almost triangular in shape, closed by a front panel, which let down, and, supported by two long brass hinges, served for a writing-table. In the centre of this panel, which was inlaid with ornaments of wood of different patterns, Rodolph observed a cipher let in, of ebony, and which consisted of an M. and an R., intertwined and surmounted with a count's coronet. He conjectured, therefore, that the last possessor of this piece of furniture was a person in an elevated rank of society. His curiosity increased, and he looked at the _secretaire_ with redoubled scrutiny; he opened the drawers mechanically, one after the other, when, having some difficulty in drawing out the last, and trying to discover the obstacle, he perceived, and drew carefully out, a sheet of paper, half shut up between the drawer and the bottom of the opening. Whilst Rigolette was concluding her bargain with Mother Bouvard, Rodolph was engrossed in examining what he had found. From the numerous erasures which covered this paper, he perceived that it was the copy of an unfinished letter. Rodolph, with considerable difficulty, made out what follows: