"Perhaps, before he replies, he is considering in what way he can best be useful to us."
"It appears to me plain enough, mamma, if he could not do anything for us, he could have written at once, and said so."
"Oh, mamma, is that possible? to refuse to answer us, and leave us in hope for four days--eight days, perhaps; for when one is miserable we always hope."
"Alas, my child, there is sometimes so much indifference for the miseries persons have never known!"
"My letter cannot give him any idea of our actual disquietude, our constant sufferings; my letter will not depict to him our unhappy life, our constant humiliations, our existence in this horrid house,--the fright we have but this instant experienced. My letter will not describe the horrible future which is in store for us, if--But, my love, do not let us talk of that. You tremble,--you are cold."
"No, mamma, don't mind me; but tell me, suppose all fails us, the little money we have in the box is spent,--is it possible that, in a city as rich as Paris, we shall both die of hunger and misery--for want of work, and because a wicked man has taken from you all you had in the world?"
"But God, who knows all, who can do all, will he abandon us, who have never offended him?"
"I entreat you, my dearest girl, do not give way to these distressing ideas. I would prefer seeing you hope, without great reason, either. Come, come, comfort me rather with your consoling ideas; I am but too apt to be discouraged, as you well know."
"Yes, yes, let us hope, that is best. No doubt the porter's nephew will return to-day from the _Poste-Restante_ with a letter. Another errand to pay out of your little stock, and through my fault. If I had not been so weak yesterday and to-day we should have gone to the post-office ourselves, as we did the day before yesterday; but you will not leave me here alone and go yourself."
"How could I, my dear? Only think, just now, that horrid man who burst open the door! Suppose you had been alone?"
"Oh, mamma, pray don't talk of it; it quite frightens me only to think of it."
At this moment some one knocked suddenly at the door.
"Heaven, it is he again!" exclaimed Madame de Fermont, still under her first fears; and she pushed the table against the door with all her strength. Her fears ceased when she heard the voice of Father Micou: