"Why not?" I inquired, my heart beating fast.

"If I knew--if I were justified--you know I am her friend. I know
all her secrets."

"Will you not be my friend also?" I interrupted.

"A friend of Louison, he is mine," said she.

"Ah, ma'm'selle, then I confess to you--it is because I love her."

"I knew it; I am no fool," was her answer. "But I had to hear it
from you. It is a remarkable thing to do, but they are in such
peril. I think you ought to know."

She took the letter from her bosom, passing it to my hand. A faint
odor of violets came with it. It read:--


"MY DEAR THERESE: I wish I could see you, if only for an hour. I
have so much to say. I have written your father of our prison
home. I am going to write you of my troubles. You know what we
were talking about the last time I saw you--myself and that
handsome fellow. Mon Dieu! I shall not name him. It is not
necessary. Well, you were right, my dear. I was a fool; I laughed
at your warning; I did not know the meaning of that delicious pain.
But oh, my dear friend, it has become a terrible thing since I know
I may never see him again. My heart is breaking with it. Mere de
Dieu! I can no longer laugh or jest or pretend to be happy. What
shall I say? That I had rather die than live without him? No;