Here in the afternoon I found on my table a little Russian leather case, on which my initials had been embroidered above the word Souvenir. Inside I found a bank-note equivalent to the sum Francis had borrowed of me; on the envelope which inclosed it she had written, in a bold hand, the word Merci, her name, and the date. The case itself was not new. Poor dear girl! she must have sat up half the night to work my initials in silk, as a surprise. I now felt more than ever how dear she was become to me, and I promised myself not to temporize any longer. Then the idea occurred to me: If I can get her permission, I will ask her hand of the General to-morrow after I have congratulated him on his birthday.
This idea threw me into a transport of joy. I got up from my chair with the intention of seeking my cousin and bringing matters to a crisis at any risk. My hand was already on the handle of the door, when I thought I heard a tap at the window. Immediately a hoarse voice called several times—
“Francis! Francis!”
Astonished, and wishing to know who this could be, I stood motionless. The voice cried again—
“Francis, if you don’t open the window I will break the sash all to pieces.”
[1] In Holland one is obliged to fetch a registered letter; they are never delivered by the postman.
Chapter XXVI.
As, for very good reasons, Francis gave no answer, a vigorous arm forced open the window, and a man sprang into the room, seemingly quite indifferent about any damage he might have caused.