One, two, three, troubles and vexations.

One, two, three, the nine of spades; ah, dear! more hardships and misery,--always that wretched card turning up with its sad story!" Rose seemed utterly downcast at the sight of the little piece of painted cardboard, as though she had received certain intelligence of a coming misfortune.

She soon, however, recovered herself, and was again shuffling the pack,--cut it, taking care to do so with her left hand, spread them out before her, and again commenced counting: one, two, three.

This time the cards appeared to be more propitious, and held out promises of success for the future.
"I am loved," read she, as she gazed anxiously upon them,--"very much loved! Here is rejoicing, and a letter from a dark man! See, here he is,--the knave of clubs.

Always the same," she continued; "I cannot strive against fate." Then, rising to her feet, she drew from a crack in the wall, which formed a safe hiding-place for her secrets, a soiled and crumpled letter, and, unfolding it, she read for perhaps the hundredth time these words:-- "MADEMOISELLE,-- "To see you is to love you.