"I know on how little you can live, and what a resource the smallest sum would be to you in a time of difficulty. I am very poor, but, by economy, I have set aside one thousand five hundred francs, deposited at a banker's; it is all that I possess. By my will, which you will find here, I bequeath it to you; accept it from a friend, a good brother, who is no more."
"Oh! M. Rudolph," said Rigolette, bursting into tears, and giving the letter to the prince, "this gives me too much pain. Good Germain, thus to think of me! Oh! what a heart! what an excellent heart!"
"Worthy and good young man!" replied Rudolph, with emotion. "But calm yourself, my child. Germain is not dead; this anticipation will only serve as a witness of his love for you."
"It is true. To be beloved by so good a young man is very flattering, is it not, M. Rudolph?"
"And some day, perhaps, you will participate in this love?"
"M. Rudolph, it is very trying; poor Germain is so much to be pitied! I'll put myself in his place—if at the moment when I thought myself abandoned, despised by all the world, a person, a good friend, came to me, still more kind than I could hope for—I should be so happy!" After a moment's pause, Rigolette resumed with a sigh, "On the other hand, we are both so poor, that perhaps it would not be reasonable. Look here, M. Rudolph, I do not wish to think of that; perhaps I am mistaken; but I will do all I can for Germain, as long as he remains in prison. Once free, it will always be time enough to see if it is love or friendship I feel for him; then if it is love, neighbor, it will be love. But it grows late, M. Rudolph; will you collect these papers, while I make up a bundle of linen? Oh! I forgot the sachet inclosing the little orange cravat, which I have given him. It is in this drawer, without a doubt. Oh! see how pretty it is, all embroidered! Poor Germain has guarded it like a relic! I well remember the last time I wore it, and when I gave it to him. He was so happy, so happy."
At this moment some one knocked at the door.
"Who is there?" demanded Rudolph.
"I want to speak to Madame Mathieu," answered a hoarse and husky voice, with an accent which denoted the speaker to be one of the lowest order. Madame Mathieu was a diamond broker living in this house, who employed Morel.
This voice, singularly accented, awakened some vague recollections in the mind of Rudolph. Wishing to enlighten them, he went and opened the door. He found himself face to face with a fellow whom he recognized at once, so fully and plainly was the stamp of crime marked on his youthful and besotted face.