Rosa, always full of fun, pretended to keep the letter, to the dismay of our small cousin, who didn't always see through our jokes, but finally yielded to her entreaties.
"Wouldn't you like to read it to us, Rosa?" asked Paula, tearing open the envelope. "I find it much harder to read writing than printing."
Rosa was only too glad to learn the secrets contained in such an unusual communication. And so this is what we heard as she read:
"My dear god-daughter: I cannot tell you how dismayed I was on my return from Geneva to learn of the death of thy father. I know he is at peace in heaven, happy at the side of the Lord he so dearly loved. But it is for thee that my heart was torn with anguish. Canst thou imagine the pain that filled it when I found on my return to Villar, that both of you had gone from me?
"The Pastor in the village told me that thou hadst gone to your uncle's house in Normandy, and that thou wert well-cared for. But oh, how I would have wished to have kept thee with me. But thou knowest, that for me, that would have been impossible, having to care for my old father and mother, as well as pay off their debts. I know, however, with the help of God, some day I shall be free. Then we shall return to buy the little farm where my father made us such a happy home, and at that time I trust that thou wilt come back and live with me—but then, I suppose thou wilt have become a great lady, and wilt not be content to come back to such a simple life with an obscure country woman (although I really don't believe that)."
"Oh, no, no, no!" suddenly interrupted Paula. "Godmother knows very well that I shall never forget the happy life in Villar."
"Then, you will go back there?" inquired Rosa.
"Of course. Why not?" and Paula looked quite surprised.
"What's that you say? You would leave all of us who love you so?"
"Oh, no indeed, you shall all come with me," responded Paula, who generally had a way of solving every difficulty.