"
"What is that?"
"I must see the letters which Monsieur Savaron sends to the post by
Jerome."
"But what for?" said Mariette in alarm.
"Oh! merely to read them, and you yourself shall post them afterwards.
It will cause a little delay; that is all."
At this moment they went into church, and each of them, instead of
reading the order of Mass, fell into her own train of thought.
"Dear, dear, how many sins are there in all that?" thought Mariette.
Rosalie, whose soul, brain, and heart were completely upset by reading
the story, by this time regarded it as history, written for her rival.
By dint of thinking of nothing else, like a child, she ended by
believing that the _Eastern Review_ was no doubt forwarded to Albert's
lady-love.
"Oh!" said she to herself, her head buried in her hands in the
attitude of a person lost in prayer; "oh! how can I get my father to
look through the list of people to whom the _Review_ is sent?"
After breakfast she took a turn in the garden with her father, coaxing
and cajoling him, and brought him to the kiosk.
"Do you suppose, my dear little papa, that our _Review_ is ever read
abroad?"
"It is but just started--"
"Well, I will wager that it is."
"It is hardly possible."
"Just go and find out, and note the names of any subscribers out of
France."
Two hours later Monsieur de Watteville said to his daughter:
"I was right; there is not one foreign subscriber as yet.
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