At last, however, she opened the letter and read:
" My dear, dear child." "Dear child!" indeed. What could this
mean? Was there any one in the world sufficiently interested in
her welfare, or loving her enough, to address her in this style?
She quickly turned the sheet to see the signature; and when her
eyes fell on it she turned pale. "Ah!" she exclaimed,
involuntarily, "ah! ah!"
The letter was signed: "Athenais de Fondege." It had been written
by the General's wife. She resumed her perusal of it, and this is
what she read: "I this instant hear of the cruel loss you have
sustained, and also learn that, for want of testamentary
provisions, the poor Count de Chalusse leaves you, his idolized
daughter, almost without resources. I will not attempt to offer
you consolation, God alone can assuage certain sorrows. I should
come and weep with you if I were not kept in bed by illness. But
to-morrow, whatever happens, I shall be with you before breakfast.
It is at such a time as this, my poor dear afflicted child, that
one can tell one's true friends; and we are yours as I hope to
prove. The General feels that he should be insulting and
betraying the memory of a man who was his dearest friend for
thirty years, if he did not take the count's place, if he did not
become your second father. He has offered you our modest home;
you have refused. Why? With the authority conferred upon me by my
age and my position as the mother of a family, I tell you that you
ought to accept.
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