ell, mamma, am I right? Oh, how my heart beats!"

"Our good or bad fate is in it," said Madame de Fermont; and twice her
trembling hand was extended to break the seal; she had not courage.

How can we describe the terrible agony to which they are a prey who,
like Madame de Fermont, expect a letter which brings them either hope or
despair? The burning, fevered excitement of the player whose last pieces
of gold are hazarded on a card, and who, breathless, with inflamed eye,
awaits for a decisive cast which brings his ruin or his fortune,--this
emotion, violent as it is, may perhaps give some idea of the painful
anguish of which we speak. In a second the soul is elevated to the most
radiant hope or relapses into the most mortal discouragement. According
as he hopes to be aided, or fears to be refused, the unhappy wretch
suffers in turn emotions of a most contrary nature,--unutterable
feelings of happiness and gratitude to the generous heart which pities
his miserable condition--bitter and intense resentment against selfish
indifference!

When it is a question of deserving sufferers, those who give often would
perhaps give always, and those who always refuse would perhaps give
frequently, if they knew or saw that the hope of benevolent aid or the
fear of a haughty refusal--that their decision, indeed--can excite all
that is distressing or encouraging in the hearts of their petitioners.

"What weakness!" said Madame de Fermont, with a deep sigh, seating
herself by her daughter; "once again, my poor Claire, our destiny is in
this envelope; I burn with anxiety to know its contents, and yet I dare
not read it. If it be a refusal, alas, it will be soon enough!"

"And if it be a promise of assistance, then, mamma--If this poor little
letter contain consoling words, which shall assure us for the future, by
promising us a humble employment in the establishment of M. d'Orbigny,
every moment lost is a moment of happiness lost,--is it not?"

"Yes, my love; but on the other hand--"

"No, mamma, you are mistaken; I told you that M. d'Orbigny had only
delayed so long that he might mention something certain to you. Let me
see the letter, mamma. I am sure I can guess if it is good or bad by the
writing. And I am sure," said Claire, looking at the letter, "that it is
a kind and generous hand, accustomed to execute benevolence towards
those who suffer."

"I entreat you, Claire, not to give way to vain hopes; for, if you do, I
shall n