ooked
like a statue of sorrow rather than of resignation, but for the big
tears which were slowly dropping down her cheeks.

Her exquisite beauty looked almost ethereal under the circumstances; and
Papa Ravinet, when he saw her, remained fixed by admiration, standing
upon the threshold of the open door. But it occurred to him at once that
he might be looked upon as a spy, and that his feelings would be sure
to be misinterpreted. He coughed, therefore, to give warning, and then
stepped in.

At the noise he made, Henrietta roused herself. When she saw the old
merchant, she said in a faint, feeble voice,--

"Ah! it is you, sir. These kind ladies have told me all. You have saved
my life." Then, shaking her head, she added,--

"You have rendered me a sad service, sir."

She uttered these words so simply, but in a tone of such harrowing
grief, that Papa Ravinet was overcome.

"Unhappy child!" he exclaimed, "you do not think of trying it over
again?"

She made no answer. It was as good as if she had said, Yes.

"Why, you must be mad!" said the old man, excited almost beyond control.
"Only twenty years old, and give up life! That has never been done
before. You are suffering now; but you can hardly imagine what
compensation Providence may have in store for you hereafter"--

She interrupted him by a gesture, and said,--

"There was no future for me, sir, when I sought refuge in death."

"But"--

"Oh, don't try to convince me, sir! What I did, I had to do. I felt how
life was leaving me, and I only wished to shorten the agony. I had not
eaten any thing for three days when I lit that charcoal. Even to get the
charcoal, I had to risk a falsehood, and cheat the woman who let me have
it in credit. And yet God knows I was not wanting in courage. I would
have done the coarsest, hardest work cheerfully, joyously. But how did
I know how to get work? I asked Mrs. Chevassat a hundred times to obtain
employment for me; but she always laughed at me; and, when I begged
hard, she said"--

She stopped; and her face became crimson with shame. She dared not
repeat what the wife of the concierge had said. But she added in a voice
trembling with womanly shame and deep indignation,--

"Ah, that woman is a wicked creature!"

The old merchant was probably fully aware of the character of Mrs.
Chevassat. He guessed only too readily what kind of advice she had given
this poor girl of twenty, who had turned to her for help in her great