onfirm her suspicions. It was intended
that the fear of misery should not be the obstacle of her leaving the
house. The workgirl's resolution was soon taken, with that calm and firm
resignation which was familiar to her. She rose, with somewhat bright and
haggard eyes, but without a tear in them. Since the day before, she had
wept too much. With a trembling, icy hand, she wrote these words on a
paper, which she left by the side of the bank-note: "May Mdlle. de
Cardoville be blessed for all that she has done for me, and forgive me
for having left her house, where I can remain no longer."

Having written this, Mother Bunch threw into the fire the infamous
letter, which seemed to burn her hands. Then, taking a last look at her
chamber, furnished so comfortably, she shuddered involuntarily as she
thought of the misery that awaited her--a misery more frightful than that
of which she had already been the victim, for Agricola's mother had
departed with Gabriel, and the unfortunate girl could no longer, as
formerly, be consoled in her distress by the almost maternal affection of
Dagobert's wife. To live alone--quite alone--with the thought that her
fatal passion for Agricola was laughed at by everybody, perhaps even by
himself--such were the future prospects of the hunchback. This future
terrified her--a dark desire crossed her mind--she shuddered, and an
expression of bitter joy contracted her features. Resolved to go, she
made some steps towards the door, when, in passing before the fireplace,
she saw her own image in the glass, pale as death, and clothed in black;
then it struck her that she wore a dress which did not belong to her, and
she remembered a passage in the letter, which alluded to the rags she had
on before she entered that house. "True!" said she, with a heart breaking
smile, as she looked at her black garments; "they would call me a thief."

And, taking her candle, she entered the little dressing room, and put on
again the poor, old clothes, which she had preserved as a sort of pious
remembrance of her misfortunes. Only at this instant did her tears flow
abundantly. She wept--not in sorrow at resuming the garb of misery, but
in gratitude; for all the comforts around her, to which she was about to
bid an eternal adieu, recalled to her mind at every step the delicacy and
goodness of Mdlle. de Cardoville: therefore, yielding to an almost
involuntary impulse, after she had put on her poor, old clothes, she fell
on