supposed husband. I had up the small trunk, and after we had forced the
lock Betty took out her cloak and the few effects she had in it, and we
then inspected the adventurer's properties, most likely all he possessed
in the world. A few tattered shirts, two or three pairs of mended silk
stockings, a pair of breeches, a hare's foot, a pot of grease, and a
score of little books-plays or comic operas, and lastly a packet of
letters; such were the contents of the trunk.

We proceeded to read the letters, and the first thing we noted was the
address: "To M. L'Etoile, Actor, at Marseilles, Bordeaux, Bayonne,
Montpellier, etc."

I pitied Betty. She saw herself the dupe of a vile actor, and her
indignation and shame were great.

"We will read it all to-morrow," said I; "to-day we have something else
to do."

The poor girl seemed to breathe again.

We got over our supper hastily, and then Betty begged me to leave her
alone for a few moments for her to change her linen and go to bed.

"If you like," said I, "I will have a bed made up for me in the next
room."

"No, dear friend, ought I not to love your society? What would have
become of me without you?"

I went out for a few minutes, and when I returned and came to her bedside