A Cardinal Sin | Page 3

it seems to me that I have inspired confidence in you."
"Indeed you have, monsieur," she assured him. "Before entering your house I feared I would not find the courage to dictate the letter to a total stranger; but you received me with so much kindness that my embarrassment has almost completely melted away."
"Why should you have felt any embarrassment, my child? Even though I were your father, I could not find a word to reproach you in what you have written to--to M. Louis--and it I did not fear to abuse your confidence in me I would ask--but no--it would be an indiscretion."
"What would you ask, monsieur?"
"Who this M. Louis Richard is."
"Oh! that's no secret, I assure you. M. Louis is a student; the notary's office in which he is employed is in the same building as the shop in which I work. That is how we met, just one year ago to-day."
"Ah! I now understand why you insisted on the date of your letter; to-day is the anniversary of your first meeting!"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And you love each other. There, don't blush, my child--I suppose you will marry some day?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Has M. Louis' family consented to the marriage?"
"M. Louis has no one to consult but his father, and we hope he will not refuse his consent."
"And what kind of a man is he?"
"The best of fathers--so M. Louis tells me--and a man who endures his poverty most courageously, although he once had a comfortable home. But M. Louis and his father are now as poor as godmother and myself; and this is why we expect no opposition to our marriage. No difficulty can arise between poor people."
"It seems to me that your godmother does not make life very happy for you, my child."
"What will you? it is so natural to be ill-humored when one suffers incessantly and life is but a continual round of misfortunes."
"Is she a cripple?"
"She has lost one hand, besides being afflicted with a lung disease which has kept her confined to her bed for more than a year."
"How did she lose that hand?"
"She pricked her finger with a mattress needle, and as she could not stop work, blood poisoning followed, and she was forced to have her arm amputated."
"Poor woman," broke in the old man, absent-mindedly.
"As for her lung trouble, it is very common among women who continually breathe the dust arising from the wool used in mattresses. My godmother is almost bent double, and during her long paroxysms of coughing I am sometimes obliged to support her in my arms for hours."
"You alone, then, contribute to her support?"
"Certainly, since she is unable to work."
"Such devotion on your part is very generous."
"I only do my duty, monsieur. She gave me shelter after my parents died, and paid for my three years of apprenticeship in the shop. Is it not just that I should now care for her?"
"You must work very hard to earn sufficiently."
"From fifteen to eighteen hours a day."
"And instead of taking a much needed rest at night, you watch over your godmother?"
"Who would care for her if I did not?"
"Why not try to place her in the hospital?"
"She would not be admitted, as her case is incurable. Besides, I scarcely think I would have the courage to desert her thus."
"You are indeed a noble girl, my child, and I judged you rightly," declared the old man, grasping her hand in his.
"Oh! my God!" cried Mariette, as she saw his sleeve catch the inkstand, spilling the contents over the precious letter. "Ah! monsieur, what a misfortune!"
"What awkwardness!" exclaimed the writer angrily. "But never mind, I can copy it in a very few minutes. I shall read it aloud as I go on, so that you may suggest any change you may think proper."
"I am so grieved to give you all this trouble," she murmured, evidently much distressed.
"It serves me right, my dear,--I alone am to blame."
As he resumed his work, a violent internal conflict seemed reflected on his features; from time to time a sigh of relief and satisfaction escaped his lips; then again he appeared confused and avoided Mariette's limpid gaze; while she leaned on the table, her head supported on one hand, anxiously and enviously following the rapid pen of the writer, as he traced the magic characters that would convey her thoughts to her lover.
"How much do I owe you, monsieur?" she asked timidly, when he had folded the missive and addressed it.
"Fifty centimes," rejoined the old man, after a moment of hesitation, "and remember that I charge you for one of the letters only. I alone am responsible for my awkwardness."
"You are very kind, monsieur," said Mariette, touched by what she considered a proof of generosity on his part. "Indeed," she added, as she replaced her slender purse into her pocket, "you