"Not quite sure; but I shall love it just as well, and look upon it as my
child as well as yours."

"I am sure you must be the father. It is impossible the child can be
Petri's, who only knew me once, and then very imperfectly, whilst you and
I have lived in tender love for so long a time."

She wept hot tears.

"Calm yourself, dearest, I implore you! You are right; it cannot be
Petri's child. You know I love you, and I cannot doubt that you are with
child by me and by me alone. If you give me a baby as pretty as yourself,
it will be mine indeed. Calm yourself."

"How can I be calm when you can have such a suspicion?"

We said no more about it; but in spite of my tenderness, my caresses, and
all the trifling cares which bear witness to love, she was often sad and
thoughtful. How many times I reproached myself bitterly for having let
out my silly calculations.

A few days later she gave me a sealed letter, saying,--

"The servant has given me this letter when you were away. I am offended
by his doing so, and I want you to avenge me."

I called the man, and said,--

"Where did you get this letter?"