"And now, my dearly beloved mother, my confession becomes a painful one, even when made to thee. It may be because this atmosphere of deceit and adulation in which I am living has already contaminated me, or, perhaps, because I shrink in such dismay from the thought that all this praise and all these demonstrations of affection are due solely to my wealth, but I can scarcely credit so much baseness and deceitfulness, nor can I quite believe that I am so utterly unattractive, or that I am wholly incapable of inspiring any sincere and disinterested affection.
"And you see, my dearest mother, I no longer know what to think, not only of other people, but of myself. These doubts, this continual suspicion and distrust, are intolerable. I try in vain to devise some means of discovering the truth. From whom can I expect an honest reply?
"Nor is this all. Several recent events have rendered my situation still more trying.
"You shall judge of it.
"M. de Maillefort's sarcastic allusions in regard to the perfections which I must necessarily possess in my character of heiress have doubtless been repeated to my guardian and his wife by Mlle. Helena, or else some other event, of which I am ignorant, has induced those around me to disclose projects of which I had no previous knowledge or even suspicion, and which have increased my distrust and uneasiness a thousandfold."
Mademoiselle was here interrupted in her writing by two cautious raps at her door.
Surprised and almost terrified, as in her preoccupation she had forgotten the subject of her late conversation with her governess, the orphan asked, in trembling tones:
"Who is it?"
"I, mademoiselle," replied Madame Laîné's voice.
"Come in," said Ernestine, remembering now.