“Louise, you must leave this house, unless you want me to die—to die of grief. Oh! my suffering has been horrible! and I feel that I shall not have the strength to endure it any longer.”
“What! can it be that I am the cause of your suffering, madame? Indeed I will go; yes, be sure of it. Mon Dieu! if I had known it sooner, I would have gone long ago and spared you much annoyance. Forgive me; for, far from seeking to make you unhappy, I would give my life to prove my zealous attachment to you. But no matter—I will go.”
“Poor Louise! then you do not hate me—me who have treated you so harshly, who have never said a kind or gentle word to you?”
“Hate you, madame? Oh! that doesn’t seem possible to me; it seems to me that it is my duty to love you.—Oh! pardon—I forget that I am only a poor servant.”
“A servant—you! Ah! that is what is killing me, that is what I cannot endure! You, a servant in my house! O my God! I was very guilty, I know, since Thou hast inflicted this punishment on me; but to-day it was too heavy.—Great heaven! what am I saying? I am losing my wits.—Louise, my poor child, you have believed that I detested you, that that was the reason why I was constantly trying to keep you away from me, have you not?—Ah! if you could have read in the depths of my heart!”
“Is it possible, madame, that you do not dislike me? Oh! I am so glad!”
“Listen to me, Louise. You ought not to be a servant; you ought to be rich and happy, poor girl! You have suffered enough for faults committed by others; your lot will soon be changed. Here, take this letter which I have just written, and hand it to the person whose name is on the envelope, to whom you will go at once on leaving here. I do not know where the—the person to whom I am sending you lives now, but you can learn by going to Monsieur Chérubin de Grandvilain’s house; he is his friend, and he will tell you at once where he lives. You know Monsieur Chérubin’s house, do you not?”
“Oh, yes! I have been there twice, madame.—And the person to whom I am to give this letter?”
“That person will—at least, I think so—restore you to your father.”
“To my father! O my God! What, madame! I shall find my parents? Do you know them, madame?”