E-text prepared by Al Haines
by
Translated by Alexina Loranger
ChicagoW. B. Conkey CompanyCopyright, 1892by Morrill, Higgins & Co.Copyright, 1893by W. B. Conkey Company
On a beautiful, bright morning of the month of May, 18—, a young girlof eighteen years or thereabouts, whose pale, melancholy face reflectedonly too plainly the wretchedness and privations of her daily life, waswending her way, timidly and with hesitating steps, through thatpopulous quarter of the city known as the Charnier des Innocents, adreary spot, principally noted for its large number of public scribes,who make a precarious living by acting as secretaries to the ignorantpeople of the vicinity.
Two or three times she paused, undecided, before an open door; then,thinking perhaps that the writer was either too young orunprepossessing, she slowly resumed her search. She had reached thelast of the row, and was on the point of retracing her steps, when hergaze fell on a venerable old man, whose benign countenance beamedkindly on her from his desk; and without further hesitation sheresolutely entered the little shop.
Struck by the touching beauty and modest attitude of the young girl,the scribe greeted her with paternal affability, and discreetly drawingthe curtain over the dingy window, motioned her to a seat, while hesank back into his old leather-covered arm-chair and waited for her tospeak.
The girl's pretty face flushed and she cast down her large, blue eyesin embarrassment, while a painful silence followed. She was evidentlyagitated by a deep emotion, for her breast heaved visibly beneath theworn merino shawl she wore over her faded gingham dress, and her handstrembled slightly as she folded them on her lap.
"Why this embarrassment, my dear child?" said the old man kindly. "Doyou wish me to draw up a petition, a request, or write a letter?"
"Yes, monsieur, I want a letter written," she replied in a low, softvoice, her face flushing still more painfully.
"Can you not write?"
She shook her head and cast down her eyes once more.
Fearing he had needlessly humiliated his client, the old man hastenedto add:
"Poor child, do you suppose me capable of blaming your ignorance?"
"Monsieur!—" she began in protestation.
"Ah! believe me," he interrupted, "I feel a great deal of compassionfor persons who, having no education, are forced to have recourse tomen of my profession, to admit them into their confidence, and revealtheir most secret and dearest thoughts! It is very painful, is it not?"
"Yes, indeed, monsieur!" exclaimed the girl, touched by these words.
"To be obliged to address myself to a stranger, to—"
Her eyes filled with tears and she paused in confusion.
"My dear child, pray recover your composure," entreated the scribe."You need fear neither indiscretion nor ridicule with me. Theconfidence reposed in me by persons whom chance or misfortune hasdeprived of the benefits of education, has always been considered assacred to me."
"Oh! thank you, monsieur; you relieve me of half my grief byunderstanding and excusing my embarrassment," said Mariette,gratefully. "Oh! yes," she went on with a sigh, "it is very cruel toknow neither how to read nor write; but alas! it is not my fault."
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