That night, as she was going, Prudence complained of the cold and asked Marguerite to lend her a shawl.
So a month passed, and all the time Marguerite was more joyous and more affectionate than she ever had been.

Nevertheless, the carriage did not return, the shawl had not been sent back, and I began to be anxious in spite of myself, and as I knew in which drawer Marguerite put Prudence's letters, I took advantage of a moment when she was at the other end of the garden, went to the drawer, and tried to open it; in vain, for it was locked.

When I opened the drawer in which the trinkets and diamonds were usually kept, these opened without resistance, but the jewel cases had disappeared, along with their contents no doubt.
A sharp fear penetrated my heart.

I might indeed ask Marguerite for the truth in regard to these disappearances, but it was certain that she would not confess it.
"My good Marguerite," I said to her, "I am going to ask your permission to go to Paris.

They do not know my address, and I expect there are letters from my father waiting for me.