w that I have read his kind and feeling
letter, I cannot forgive myself for ever having blamed him even for that
one thing."

"In the first place," said Rodolph, smiling, "you find that he had many
and just causes for his sadness; and secondly, that, spite of his
melancholy, he did love you deeply and sincerely."

"To be sure; and it seems a thing to be proud of, to be loved by so
excellent a young man!"

"Whose love you will, no doubt, return one of these days?"

"I don't know about that, M. Rodolph, though it is very likely, for poor
Germain is so much to be pitied. I can imagine myself in his place.
Suppose, just when I fancied myself despised and forsaken by all the
world, some one whom I loved very dearly should evince for me more
regard than I had ventured to hope for, don't you think it would make me
very happy?" Then, after a short silence, Rigolette continued, with a
sigh, "On the other hand, we are both so poor that, perhaps, it would
be very imprudent. Ah, well, M. Rodolph, I must not think of such
things. Perhaps, too, I deceive myself. One thing, however, is quite
sure, and that is, that so long as Germain remains in prison I will do
all in my power for him. It will be time enough when he has regained his
liberty for me to determine whether 'tis love or friendship I feel for
him. Until then it would only torment me needlessly to try to make up my
mind what I had better do. But it is getting late, M. Rodolph. Will you
have the goodness to collect all those papers, while I make up a parcel
of linen? Ah, I forgot the little bag containing the little
orange-coloured cravat I gave him. No doubt it is here--in this drawer.
Oh, yes, this is it. Oh, see, what a pretty bag! How nicely embroidered!
Poor Germain! I declare he has kept such a trifle as this little
handkerchief with as much care as though it had been some holy relic. I
well remember the last time I had it around my throat; and when I gave
it to him, poor fellow, how very pleased he was!"

At this moment some one knocked at the door.

"Who's there?" inquired Rodolph.

"Want to speak to Ma'am Mathieu," replied a harsh, hoarse voice, and in
a tone which is peculiar to the lowest orders. (Madame Mathieu was the
matcher of precious stones to whom we have before referred.)

This voice, whose accent was peculiar, awoke some vague recollections in
Rodolph's breast; and, desirous of elucidating them, he took the light,
and went himself to open the door.