Having contemplated the letter in silence for some time, without recognizing the writing, Louis mechanically tore it open, while old Richard still continued his tireless pacing, closely observing his every movement.

Suddenly he saw him turn ghastly pale, brush his hand over his brow, as if to assure himself he was not the victim of an illusion, then read the letter once more, with ever-growing anguish expressed on his features.

The letter, written that morning by old Richard, in a disguised hand, ran as follows:

"Monsieur Louis:

"I take advantage of your absence to make a confession which I have postponed for two whole months, because I feared to cause you grief. We must renounce our projects of marriage and never see each other again.

"I cannot explain the cause of this change; but, believe me, my resolution is well taken. If I have waited until this day, the sixth of May, to tell you this, it was because I wanted ample time for reflection before announcing my determination.

"Farewell, Monsieur Louis; do not try to see me; it would be useless and cause us needless pain. If, on the contrary, you forget me entirely and make no attempt to see me, my happiness, as well as that of my god-mother will be assured.

"It is therefore in the name of our happiness and tranquillity that I ask you not to seek me.

"You possess such a kind heart that I am sure you will make no attempt to grieve me, by insisting on an explanation. I swear that all is over between us and that I love you as a friend only. MARIETTE MOREAU."

"P. S. Instead of sending this letter to Dreux, as you instructed me to do, I address it to Paris, that you may find it on your return. Augustine has gone to the country, so another person writes this for me.

"I have forgotten to say that my godmother's condition is still the same."

The reading of this letter plunged Louis into a hopeless stupor. The ingenuity of the style, the correctness of details, the emphasis on the date, all convinced him that the lines must have been dictated by Mariette. Having vainly tried to understand the cause of this abrupt rupture, he felt his heart invaded with mingled grief, anger, resentment, and a deep sentiment of wounded pride.

"Indeed, I shall never attempt to see her again," he murmured, unconscious that he spoke aloud. "She has no need to insist on that point with so much obstinacy!"

These words were a relief to the old man, who was closely watching the effects of his stratagem, while apparently absorbed in his own reflections.

But grief soon took the ascendancy over anger in the young man's heart, and his love re-awakened more tender and more passionate than ever; he tried to recall the most trifling details of his last interview with Mariette, questioned his memory in regard to the last few months of their friendship, but could find no trace of growing coldness in their relations. The young girl, on the contrary had never seemed more loving, more devoted, or more impatient to unite her life to his. And all these appearances had lied; Mariette was a monster of deceit—she whom he had always believed so pure and candid!

No, he could not accept this in silence! He could no longer endure such anguish, without making one effort to unveil the mystery that surrounded Mariette's conduct! The atmosphere of the room stifled him, and he resolved to seek the girl at once and force an explanation from her lips, even at the risk of prejudicing his cause with Mariette's godmother, who was also in ignorance of their love.

Alarmed at the varied emotions reflected on his son's face, old Richard thought it time to interfere.

"My dear Louis," he said, closely scrutinizing the young man's troubled face, "I believe we had better start for Dreux early tomorrow morning, thereby anticipating Ramon's visit to us by twenty-four hours."

"Father!" began Louis, in protestation.

"It will not compromise you, in the least, my son, and if you are resolved to deny me the dearest wish of my life, all I ask, as a last satisfaction, is to spend a few days with Ramon and his daughter. You shall then be free to act as you please." Then seeing Louis take up his hat, he asked anxiously: "Where are you going?"

"My head aches, and I am going out for a whiff of fresh air," replied the young man.

"In mercy don't go out, my boy!" cried the old man, with growing alarm. "You look gloomy and out of sorts since you read that letter. Really, you frighten me!"

"You are mistaken. The letter was absolutely insignificant, I assure you," returned Louis, closing the door behind him.

As he was rushing out, however, the concierge hailed him and invited him to enter the lodge.

"What is it?" asked Louis, struck by the man's mysterious air.

"Here is a card left for you by a decorated gentleman," explained the concierge. "He came in an elegant carriage, and said this was urgent."

Taking the card, Louis approached the light and read:

"Commander de La MiraudiÈre, "17 Rue du Mont-Blanc.

"Will expect M. Louis Richard at my home, between nine and ten o'clock to-morrow morning, to communicate something of grave importance, which admits of no delay."

"Commander de La MiraudiÈre? I never heard the name," said Louis, gazing curiously at the card; then, as he mechanically turned it over, his eyes caught sight of these words in pencil:

"Mariette Moreau, with Madame Lacombe, Rue des PrÊtres-Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois."

The commander had noted Mariette's address on the back of his card, and unconsciously used the same in writing to Louis to request an interview.

Much astonished and perplexed, the young man vainly asked himself what relation could exist between this stranger, whose card he held, and Mariette.

"Did the gentleman leave any other message?" he asked the concierge.
"Did he say anything?"

"Nothing, except that I was to give you the card without your father's knowledge."

"Strange," murmured the young man.

"He even gave me forty sous, to make sure I would do the errand."

"Was he young or old?"

"A very handsome man, wearing the ribbon, with a mustache and side-whiskers black as ink, and dressed like a prince, not counting his elegant cabriolet."

Louis went out more perplexed than ever. This new incident redoubled his anguish; by dint of seeking Mariette's motive for this abrupt rupture, he was beginning to feel the sharp pangs of jealousy. Once under this influence, the wildest suspicions and most chimerical fears assumed the appearance of reality to his eyes; and he finally asked himself if this stranger might not be a rival. How else was he to explain Mariette's relations with a young and handsome young man?

In her letter to him, Mariette begged him not to seek her, as it might compromise her own and her god-mother's happiness. He well knew the wretched position of the two women, and Mariette had often confided to him the trials she was forced to endure through her god-mother's gloomy and harsh character. A horrible thought now flashed through his head. Had not Mariette, perhaps, been driven by misery and the threats of her god-mother to listen to the brilliant propositions of this man, whose card he now held in his hand? But, in that case, why should this stranger request an interview? The mystery seemed as impenetrable as ever.

Once launched in the dizzy path of jealousy, lovers invariably give full sway to their imaginations and entertain the wildest ideas. Louis was no exception to the rule. In supposing himself supplanted by a rival, he found the key to what seemed inexplicable in Mariette's letter and in her conduct. He therefore tenaciously clung to the belief of her infidelity, longing for the moment when he might demand an explanation from this audacious commander.

He now abandoned his first resolution of seeing Mariette, and retraced his steps homeward in a state of deep agitation and painful excitement. It was midnight when he again entered their dreary room. His father was anxiously waiting for him; but one glance at his son's gloomy countenance reassured the old man. Feeling certain that the lovers had not met and that his stratagem was still undiscovered, he again proposed a visit to Dreux on the following day; but Louis threw himself dejectedly on his bed, declaring he must have time for reflection before taking such a grave step.

After a night of sleepless agony, the young man rose at dawn and quietly slipped out of the room, glad to escape his father's questioning for a few hours. With his mind tortured by anxiety and misgivings, he turned toward the boulevard to await the hour fixed for his interview with Commander de La MiraudiÈre.