"M. Louis bids me renounce him, and says he renounces me?"
"Alas! yes, my poor child. Come, come, summon up all your courage and resignation."
Mariette, who had turned as pale as death, was silent for a moment, while big tears rolled down her cheeks; then, stooping suddenly, she gathered up the crumpled fragments of the letter and handed them to the scrivener, saying, in a husky voice:
"I at least have the courage to hear all. Put the pieces together and read the letter to me, if you please, monsieur."
"Do not insist, my child, I beg of you."
"Read it, monsieur, in pity read it!"
"But—"
"I must know the contents of this letter, however much the knowledge may pain me."
"I have already told you the substance of it. Spare yourself further pain."
"Have pity on me, monsieur. If you do really feel the slightest interest in me, read the letter to me,—in heaven's name, read it! Let me at least know the extent of my misfortune; besides, there may be a line, or at least a word, of consolation."