and the quiet
realities of our every-day life of old have resumed their way," answers
Trudaine.

They enter the house. Rose beckons to Lomaque to sit down near her, and
places pen and ink and an open letter before him.

"I have a last favor to ask of you," she says, smiling.

"I hope it will not take long to grant," he rejoins; "for I have only
to-night to be with you. To-morrow morning, before you are up, I must be
on my way back to Chalons."

"Will you sign that letter?" she continues, still smiling, "and then
give it to me to send to the post? It was dictated by Louis, and written
by me, and it will be quite complete, if you will put your name at the
end of it."

"I suppose I may read it?"

She nods, and Lomaque reads these lines:

"CITIZEN--I beg respectfully to apprise you that the commission you
intrusted to me at Paris has been performed.

"I have also to beg that you will accept my resignation of the place
I hold in your counting-house. The kindness shown me by you and your
brother before you, emboldens me to hope that you will learn with
pleasure the motive of my withdrawal. Two friends of mine, who consider
that they are under some obligations to me, are anxious that I should
pass the rest of my days in the quiet and protection of their home.
Troubles of former years have knit us together as closely as if we were
all three members of one family. I need the repose of a happy fireside
as much as any man, after the life I have led; and my friends assure
me so earnestly that their whole hearts are set on establishing the old
man's easy-chair by their hearth, that I cannot summon resolution enough
to turn my back on them and their offer.

"Accept, then, I beg of you, the resignation which this letter contains,
and with it the assurance of my sincere gratitude and respect.

"To Citizen Clairfait, Silk-mercer,

"Chalons-sur-Marne."

After reading these lines, Lomaque turned round to Trudaine and
attempted to speak; but the words would not come at command. He looked
up at Rose, and tried to smile; but his lip only trembled. She dipped
the pen in the ink, and placed it in his hand. He bent his head down
quickly over the paper, so that she could not see his face; but still
he did not write his name. She put her hand caressingly on his shoulder,
and whispered to him:

"Come, come, humor 'Sister Rose.' She must have her own way now she is
back again at home."

He did not answer--his head sank lower-