Mariette had scarcely vanished, when the postman pushed the door open and handed in a letter, saying: "Here is a letter from Dreux, père Richard."
"A letter from Dreux!" exclaimed the old man, grasping it eagerly and examining the writing closely. "Ah! it comes from Ramon," he muttered to himself. "I wonder what he thinks of my son? Alas! what will now become of the fine projects so long formed between us!"
"Six sous, père Richard," observed the postman, arousing him from his reverie.
"Six sous!" cried the old man. "The devil! was it not prepaid? Ah! true enough," he sighed, as he regretfully handed the man the coin he had just received from Mariette.
CHAPTER II.
In the meantime, Mariette was hurrying homeward, somewhat uneasy at the thought of her long absence. Having reached that sad, gloomy street known as the Rue des Prêtres-Saint-Germain, she walked rapidly along until she came to the last dingy house facing the dark walls of the church, where she entered. Crossing an obscure passage, the girl ascended a rickety stairway, only dimly lighted from a small court-yard that resembled nothing more than a narrow well, and stopped at the door of the portière.
"Madame Justin," she said to the woman, who stood on the threshold, "have you been up to see if my godmother wanted anything?"
"I carried up her milk, Mademoiselle Mariette," replied the woman, "but she was in such a temper that she received me like a dog."
"We must take pity on her, Madame Justin; she suffers so much."
"Of course you always excuse her and suffer everything in silence, Mademoiselle Mariette. It shows your kind heart, but it does not alter the fact that your godmother is as wicked as a red mule. Poor child! you are doing your purgatory on earth; and if there is no Heaven, you will be well cheated."