"'MY DEAR PIERRE:—The diligence stops here for an hour and I take advantage of the opportunity thus afforded to write to you.
"'After leaving you last evening the subject of our last conversation engrossed my thoughts to the exclusion of all other subjects, for what I had seen and heard could not fail to make a deep impression upon me.
"'Last night, and this morning as well, I have been unable to drive that poor boy of Madame Bastien's out of my mind. You know, Pierre, that I am rarely deceived in the deductions I draw from certain physiognomies, and what I saw yesterday and what occurred during the passing of the hunting party alike convince me that Madame Bastien's son feels a deadly hatred for the young Marquis de Pont Brillant.'"
Marie, astonished by the justice of this observation, and overcome by her recollection of the terrors of the evening, buried her face in her hands, and began to sob wildly.
"Great Heavens! what is the matter?" cried the doctor.
"Ah, that is only too true. It is hatred, an implacable hatred, that he feels. But who wrote this letter?"
"My best friend, the most generous and noble-hearted man in the world. You remember meeting a stranger at my house on St. Hubert's Day, do you not?"
"The gentleman my son treated so rudely?"
"The same; but pray go on with the letter."
"'I have not endeavoured to discover the cause of this animosity, but daily association with Frederick would undoubtedly enable a patient and sagacious person to make a discovery which is indispensable if he would effect a cure. Confident that an implacable animosity has already taken deep root in Frederick's heart, I ask myself by what strange anomaly he can be a prey to such a deplorable weakness.'"