He can very well afford to pay me for it with the present of a few herrings; if he brings any home, I shall lay hands on them, I can tell him that." "Ah!" exclaimed Martha, "I hear Mademoiselle Marguerite crying.

Her wizard of a father would swallow the house at a gulp without asking a Christian blessing, the old sorcerer! In my country he'd be burned alive; but people here have no more religion than the Moors in Africa." Marguerite could scarcely stifle her sobs as she came through the gallery.

She reached her room, took out her mother's letter, and read as follows:-- My Child,--If God so wills, my spirit will be within your heart when you read these words, the last I shall ever write; they are full of love for my dear ones, left at the mercy of a demon whom I have not been able to resist.

When you read these words he will have taken your last crust, just as he took my life and squandered my love.

You know, my darling, if I loved your father: I die loving him less, for I take precautions against him which I never could have practised while living.