"Yes, it is probably some circular from a scrivener. However, let us see what it is."
Madame de Grangeville had no sooner torn the envelope than several bank notes fell out; she uttered a cry of surprise, while Mademoiselle Lizida began to dance about the room, crying:
"What did I tell you, madame? Bank notes! fortune is smiling on us again! oh joy!"
"One thousand, two thousand, five hundred—somebody has sent me two thousand five hundred francs!"
"Good! we can go on for some time with that."
"By the way, Lizida, don't burn the mushroom boxes."
"That's so; we may use them again."
"Ah! here's a short letter with the notes; let me see who sends me this money—'Madame, one of your old acquaintances, knowing that fortune is not propitious at this moment, begs you to deign to accept this sum. Every six months the same person will take the liberty of sending you the same amount.'—And no signature."
"Every six months as much! that is rather nice; that makes five thousand francs a year for madame.—Ah! there's an agreeable acquaintance. But still, it doesn't surprise me; for madame is so kind, so noble, so generous when she has money, that it's no more than fair that somebody should treat her in the same way. I will bet that this comes from someone whom you have previously benefited. Does madame know the writing?"
"Dear me, no! the letter is written in the same hand as the address. It is perfect writing—too good to be the writing of anyone who does not make a business of it."