" she murmured. And
with a firm hand she placed the key in the lock.
The latter was out of order and the drawer was only opened with
difficulty. But there, on some clothes which Madame Leon had not
yet found time to arrange, Marguerite saw the letter. She eagerly
snatched it up, unfolded it, and read: "Dear Madame Leon--" "Dear
me," she muttered, "here is the name in full. This is an
indiscretion which will render denial difficult." And she resumed
her perusal: "Your letter, which I have just received, confirms
what my servants had already told me: that twice during my
absence--on Saturday evening and Sunday morning--you called at my
house to see me." So Mademoiselle Marguerite's penetration had
served her well. All this talk about anxious relatives had only
been an excuse invented by Madame Leon to enable her to absent
herself whenever occasion required. "I regret," continued the
letter, "that you did not find me at home, for I have instructions
of the greatest importance to give you. We are approaching the
decisive moment. I have formed a plan which will completely, and
forever, efface all remembrance of that cursed P. F., in case any
one condescended to think of him after the disgrace we fastened
upon him the other evening at the house of Madame d'Argeles." P.
F.--these initials of course meant Pascal Ferailleur. Then he was
innocent, and she held an undeniable, irrefutable proof of his
innocence in her hands.
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