Matilde received on the following morning a curious letter which surprised and startled her.

She had risen at last, grey and weary of face, with heavy eyes and drawn lips, to face the deed she meant to do.
The sky was overcast, but it was not raining yet, though it soon would.
She had risen before ringing for her maid, and had carefully removed the paper from the three little cakes of white stuff which she had made.

It had to be done cleverly, for the smaller ones seemed likely to crumble; but the large one was quite consistent.

She had hidden them all in the drawer she kept locked; then she had unfastened her door and had rung the bell.

It was past nine o'clock, and her maid had brought her a letter with her coffee.
It was very short, but the few words it contained were exceedingly disquieting.