MINETTE TO BÉBÉ. FIRST LETTER.
“WHAT will you say, my dear Bébé, on receiving this letter from your sister supposed to be dead, for whom you have doubtless wept, as one who is almost forgotten.
“Forgive me, my sister, for supposing that you can ever forget me, although we live in a world where many more than the dead are forgotten.
“First of all I write to tell you I am not dead, that my love for you is as strong as ever, and that I am still animated by the hope of one day rejoining you, alas! my sister, that day may be far distant.
“This evening I thought about our good mother, who was always so kind and careful of our toilet, whose delight it was to watch the flicker of the fire-light on our glossy, silken coats, and to train us in the paths of domestic peace, virtue, and sobriety. I was touchingly reminded of our simple family-life, with its happy days, and innocent frolic, all hallowed by the light of love. Yet the brightness of that light of true hearts casts many dark shadows across my path, shadows of regret for neglected ministries of tenderness to my mother who is now perhaps no more. Above the sentiment that prompts me to write, is the desire to make a regretful confession of the circumstances which separated me from the dear ones at home.
“Silently I took up the pen, and the result is before you. I am bending over my task by the dim light of an alabaster lamp, carefully shaded from the eyes of my sleeping mistress.
“Although I am rich, Bébé, I would rather be poor and happy! Oh, my mistress is waking. I must quickly say good-bye. I have barely time to roll up my letter and push it under the cover of a chair, where it must remain till daybreak. When it is finished I will forward it by one of our attendants who is now waiting on the terrace. He will bring me your reply.
“My mother! my mother! tell me all about her.
“YOUR SISTER.”