Struck by the touching beauty and modest attitude of the young girl, the scribe greeted her with paternal affability, and discreetly drawing the curtain over the dingy window, motioned her to a seat, while he sank back into his old leather-covered arm-chair and waited for her to speak.
The girl's pretty face flushed and she cast down her large, blue eyes in embarrassment, while a painful silence followed. She was evidently agitated by a deep emotion, for her breast heaved visibly beneath the worn merino shawl she wore over her faded gingham dress, and her hands trembled slightly as she folded them on her lap.
"Why this embarrassment, my dear child?" said the old man kindly. "Do you wish me to draw up a petition, a request, or write a letter?"
"Yes, monsieur, I want a letter written," she replied in a low, soft voice, her face flushing still more painfully.
"Can you not write?"
She shook her head and cast down her eyes once more.
Fearing he had needlessly humiliated his client, the old man hastened to add:
"Poor child, do you suppose me capable of blaming your ignorance?"
"Monsieur!—" she began in protestation.
"Ah! believe me," he interrupted, "I feel a great deal of compassion for persons who, having no education, are forced to have recourse to men of my profession, to admit them into their confidence, and reveal their most secret and dearest thoughts! It is very painful, is it not?"