Had the young girl been less pre-occupied with her, own thoughts, she could not have failed to remark the harsh expression which darkened the public writer's countenance when he learned beyond doubt to whom this innocent missive was addressed. In fact, he seemed unable to make up his mind to inscribe the name given, for when he had written the word "Monsieur," he suddenly dropped the pen and looked up.
"My dear child," he began, trying to smile with his usual benevolence, that he might not betray his resentment and apprehensions, "although this is the first time we meet, it seems to me that I have inspired confidence in you."
"Indeed you have, monsieur," she assured him. "Before entering your house I feared I would not find the courage to dictate the letter to a total stranger; but you received me with so much kindness that my embarrassment has almost completely melted away."
"Why should you have felt any embarrassment, my child? Even though I were your father, I could not find a word to reproach you in what you have written to—to M. Louis—and it I did not fear to abuse your confidence in me I would ask—but no—it would be an indiscretion."
"What would you ask, monsieur?"
"Who this M. Louis Richard is."
"Oh! that's no secret, I assure you. M. Louis is a student; the notary's office in which he is employed is in the same building as the shop in which I work. That is how we met, just one year ago to-day."
"Ah! I now understand why you insisted on the date of your letter; to-day is the anniversary of your first meeting!"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And you love each other. There, don't blush, my child—I suppose you will marry some day?"