“I 've called it a seven, because M. Marsac usually writes his sevens in this way.”
“These are De Marsac's, then?” asked I.
“And why 'De,' may I ask?” said she, quickly; “why not Marsac, as I called him?”
“I took his name as he gave it me.”
“You know him, then? Oh, I had forgotten,—he called on you the night he came. Have you seen him since?”
“Only passingly, in the street”
“Had he time to tell you that he has been dismissed?”
“Yes; he said he was now in Mr. Bettmeyer's office.”
“Shall I tell you why?” She stopped, and her cheek became crimson, while her eyes sparkled with an angry fire that actually startled me. “But let us finish this. Where were we?” She now leaned her head down upon her hands, and seemed overcome by her emotion. When she looked up again, her face was perfectly pale, and her eyes sad and weariful. “I am afraid we shall wake him,” said she, looking towards her father; “come into this room here. So this man has been talking of us?” cried she, as soon as we had passed into the adjoining room. “Has he told you how he has requited all my father's kindness? how he has repaid his trustfulness and faith in him? Speak freely if you wish me to regard you as a friend.”
“I would that you might, Fräulein. There is no name I would do so much to win.”