"I will pay you, sir."
"Oh, madame, there's no hurry, I am going up higher; in ten minutes I shall be down again, and can call for the money as I pass."
"The letter is from Normandy, with the postmark of 'Les Aubiers.' It is from Madame d'Orbigny!" exclaimed Madame de Fermont, examining the address, "To Madame X. Z., Poste-Restante, à Paris."
"Well, mamma, am I right? Oh, how my heart beats!"
"Our good or bad fate is in it," said Madame de Fermont; and twice her trembling hand was extended to break the seal; she had not courage.
How can we describe the terrible agony to which they are a prey who, like Madame de Fermont, expect a letter which brings them either hope or despair? The burning, fevered excitement of the player whose last pieces of gold are hazarded on a card, and who, breathless, with inflamed eye, awaits for a decisive cast which brings his ruin or his fortune,—this emotion, violent as it is, may perhaps give some idea of the painful anguish of which we speak. In a second the soul is elevated to the most radiant hope or relapses into the most mortal discouragement. According as he hopes to be aided, or fears to be refused, the unhappy wretch suffers in turn emotions of a most contrary nature,—unutterable feelings of happiness and gratitude to the generous heart which pities his miserable condition—bitter and intense resentment against selfish indifference!
When it is a question of deserving sufferers, those who give often would perhaps give always, and those who always refuse would perhaps give frequently, if they knew or saw that the hope of benevolent aid or the fear of a haughty refusal—that their decision, indeed—can excite all that is distressing or encouraging in the hearts of their petitioners.
"What weakness!" said Madame de Fermont, with a deep sigh, seating herself by her daughter; "once again, my poor Claire, our destiny is in this envelope; I burn with anxiety to know its contents, and yet I dare not read it. If it be a refusal, alas, it will be soon enough!"
"And if it be a promise of assistance, then, mamma—If this poor little letter contain consoling words, which shall assure us for the future, by promising us a humble employment in the establishment of M. d'Orbigny, every moment lost is a moment of happiness lost,—is it not?"
"Yes, my love; but on the other hand—"