Suddenly a
crack in the partition attracted her attention, and finding that
it extended through the wall, she realized she might watch what
was passing in the adjoining room. So she approached the spot on
tiptoe, and, with bated breath, stooped and looked in.
In her impatience to learn the contents of her letter, Madame Leon
had not gone back to bed. She had broken the seal, and was
reading the missive, standing barefooted in her night-dress,
directly opposite the little crevice. She read line after line,
and word after word, and her knitted brows and compressed lips
suggested deep concentration of thought mingled with discontent.
At last she shrugged her shoulders, muttered a few inaudible
words, and laid the open letter upon the rickety chest of drawers,
which, with two chairs and a bed, constituted the entire furniture
of her apartment.
"My God!" exclaimed Marguerite, with bated breath, "if she would
only forget it!"
But she did not forget it. She began to dress, and when she had
finished she read the letter again, and then placed it carefully
in one of the drawers, which she locked, putting the key in her
pocket.
"I shall never know, then," thought Marguerite; "no, I shall never
know. But I must know--and I will!" she added vehemently.
From that moment a firm determination to obtain that letter took
possession of her mind; and so deeply was she occupied in seeking
for some means to surmount the difficulties which stood in her way
that she did not say a dozen words during breakfast.
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