We proceeded to read the letters, and the first thing we noted was the address: “To M. L’Etoile, Actor, at Marseilles, Bordeaux, Bayonne, Montpellier, etc.”
I pitied Betty. She saw herself the dupe of a vile actor, and her indignation and shame were great.
“We will read it all to-morrow,” said I; “to-day we have something else to do.”
The poor girl seemed to breathe again.
We got over our supper hastily, and then Betty begged me to leave her alone for a few moments for her to change her linen and go to bed.
“If you like,” said I, “I will have a bed made up for me in the next room.”
“No, dear friend, ought I not to love your society? What would have become of me without you?”
I went out for a few minutes, and when I returned and came to her bedside to wish her good night, she gave me such a warm embrace that I knew my hour was come.
Reader, you must take the rest for granted. I was happy, and I had reason to believe that Betty was happy also.
In the morning, we had just fallen asleep, when the vetturino knocked at the door.