I was in my servant's hands, my face turned away towards the fire, so
that I could not see Esther, but only divert myself with the idea that
she was inspecting my belongings, when all at once she presented herself
with a melancholy air, holding Mamon's fatal letter in her hand.

"Am I to blame," said she, timidly, "for having discovered the cause of
your sorrow?"

I felt rather taken aback, but looking kindly at her, I said,

"No, no, my dear Esther; pity your friend, and say no more about it."

"Then I may read all the letters?"

"Yes, dearest, if it will amuse you."

All the letters of the faithless Manon Baletti to me, with mine to her,
were together on my table. I pointed them out to Esther, who begun to
read them quite eagerly.

When I was dressed, as if for some Court holiday, Le Duc went out and
left us by ourselves, for the worthy governess, who was working at her
lace by the window, looked at her lace, and nothing else. Esther said
that nothing had ever amused her so much as those letters.

"Those cursed epistles, which please you so well, will be the death of
me."

"Death? Oh, no! I will cure you, I hope."