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Updated: May 8, 2025
Propped up against the now lighted lamp was a letter addressed to Monsieur Polperro in a peculiar, large handwriting. L'Ami Fritz, again uttering that queer guttural exclamation, snatched up the envelope, and hurriedly put it into his breast-pocket. "I brought that letter out of M'sieur's bed-room," observed the day-servant, cringingly. "I feared M'sieur had forgotten it!
When they reached the front door L'Ami Fritz stooped down, and began looking under the mat. Sylvia smiled in the darkness; there seemed something so primitive, so simple, in keeping the key of one's front door outside under the mat! And yet foolish, prejudiced people spoke of Lacville as a dangerous spot, as the plague pit of Paris. Suddenly the door was opened by the day-servant.
Madame Wachner would probably be glad to dine out, the more so that no proper meal seemed to have been prepared by that unpleasant day-servant. Why, the woman had not even laid the cloth for her employers' supper! Sylvia looked instinctively round for paper and envelopes, but there was no writing-table, not even a pencil and paper, in the little drawing-room. How absurd and annoying!
And when she spoke of manual toil, it was no wild, unmeaning exaggeration born of sorrow and a passing flash of courage. She found employment as a day-servant and in sewing for large shops, until she at last obtained a situation as clerk in the establishment where her husband had been a partner.
This fact had enlisted to a special degree Madame Wachner's interest and liking for the two young widows. Sylvia rang the primitive bell which hung by the door which alone gave access, apart from the windows, to the Châlet des Muguets. After some moments the day-servant employed by Madame Wachner opened the door with the curt words, "Monsieur and Madame are in Paris."
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