Ursula went often to her chamber to look at Savinien, whom she usually found sitting pensively before his table with his eyes turned towards her window.

At the end of the week, but no sooner, she received a letter from him; the delay was explained by his increasing love.
To Mademoiselle Ursula Mirouet: Dear Ursula,--I am a Breton, and when my mind is once made up nothing can change me.

Your godfather, whom may God preserve to us, is right; but does it follow that I am wrong in loving you?
Therefore, all I want to know from you is whether you could love me.

Tell me this, if only by a sign, and then the next four years will be the finest of my life.
A friend of mine has delivered to my great-uncle, Vice-admiral Kergarouet, a letter in which I asked his help to enter the navy.

The kind old man, grieved at my misfortune, replies that even the king's favor would be thwarted by the rules of the service in case I wanted a certain rank.