I am a poor man, and am growing old.

You and M.
Norbert are the ones that have something to fear.

You are noble, rich, and young, and a happy future lies before you." Diana paused and thought for an instant.
"You are speaking," answered she at last, "in a most foolish manner.
When charges are made against people, proofs must be forthcoming." "Quite right, mademoiselle; but can you say that these proofs are not in my hands?
Should you, however, desire to buy them, you are at liberty to do so.

I give you the first option, and yet you grumble." As he spoke, he drew a battered leather pocket-book from his breast, and took from it a paper, which, after having been crumpled, had been carefully smoothed out again.

Diana glanced at it, and then uttered a stifled cry of rage and fear, for she at once recognized her last letter to Norbert.
"That wretch, Francoise, has betrayed me," exclaimed she, "and I saved her mother from a death by hunger and cold." The Counsellor held out the letter to her.