I come to you with less grace than others, for
I wish to remain unknown and yet to receive your entire confidence
--as though you had long known me.
Answer my letter and be friendly with me. I cannot promise to make
myself known to you, though I do not positively say I will not
some day do so.
What shall I add? Read between the lines of this letter, monsieur,
the great effort which I am making: permit me to offer you my
hand,--that of a friend, ah! a true friend.
Your servant, O. d'Este M.
P.S.--If you do me the favor to answer this letter address your
reply, if you please, to Mademoiselle F. Cochet, "poste restante,"
Havre.
CHAPTER VII
A POET OF THE ANGELIC SCHOOL
All young girls, romantic or otherwise, can imagine the impatience in
which Modeste lived for the next few days. The air was full of tongues
of fire. The trees were like a plumage. She was not conscious of a
body; she hovered in space, the earth melted away under her feet. Full
of admiration for the post-office, she followed her little sheet of
paper on its way; she was happy, as we all are happy at twenty years
of age, in the first exercise of our will.
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