The anguish of Dagobert's wife increased, the more she reflected on her situation, for, including the marshal's daughters, four persons were left absolutely without resource. It must be confessed, however, that the excellent mother thought less of herself, than of the grief which her son must feel in thinking over her deplorable position.
At this moment there was a knock at the door.
"Who is there?" said Frances.
"It is me—Father Loriot."
"Come in," said Dagobert's wife.
The dyer, who also performed the functions of a porter, appeared at the door of the room. This time, his arms were no longer of a bright apple green, but of a magnificent violet.
"Mrs. Baudoin," said Father Loriot, "here is a letter that the giver of holy water at Saint Merely's has just brought from Abbe Dubois, with a request that I would bring it up to you immediately, as it is very pressing."
"A letter from my confessor?" said Frances, in astonishment; and, as she took it, added: "Thank you, Father Loriot."
"You do not want anything?"
"No, Father Loriot."