an, who for thirty years has had the esteem of
worthy men, and the posthumous declaration of a man who, after
being ruined in most foolish undertakings, has found refuge only
in suicide. I say to you now, attack me, madame, if you dare,
and your brother's memory will be dishonoured! But I believe you
will have the good sense to resign yourself to a misfortune
which, no doubt, is very severe, but to which I am an entire
stranger.' 'But, sir, I am a mother! If my fortune is lost, my
daughter and I have nothing left but a small stock of furniture;
if that is sold, we have nothing left, sir,--nothing, but the
most frightful destitution staring us in the face.' 'You have
been cheated,--it is a misfortune, but I can do nothing in the
matter,' answered the notary. 'Once more, madame, your brother
has deceived you. If you doubt between his word and mine, attack
me; go to law, and the judges will decide.' I quitted the
notary's in the deepest despair. What could I do in this
extremity? I had no means of proving the validity of my claim; I
was convinced of the strict honour of my brother, and confounded
at the assertion of M. Ferrand, and having no person to whom I
could turn for advice (for you were travelling), and knowing
that I must have money to pay for legal opinions and advice, and
desiring to preserve the very little that I had left, I dared
not commence a suit at law. It was at this juncture--"

This sketch of the letter ended here, for what followed was covered with
ink erasures, which completely blotted out the lines. At the bottom of
the page, and in the corner, Rodolph found this kind of memorandum:

"To write to the Duchesse de Lucenay, for M. de Saint-Remy."

Rodolph remained deeply thoughtful after the perusal of this fragment of
a letter, in which he had found two names whose connection struck him.
Although the fresh infamy which appeared to accuse Jacques Ferrand was
not proved, yet this man had proved himself so pitiless towards the
unhappy Morel, had behaved so shamefully to Louise, his daughter, that
the denial of a deposit, protected by certain impunity, on the part of
such a wretch, appeared to him by no means improbable. This mother, who
claimed a fortune which had disappeared so strangely, was, doubtless,
used to a life of ease and comfort. Ruined by a sudden blow, and knowing
no one in Paris, as the letter said,