s worn tenderly on the heart.
How stupid they are! Some abominable fright that will make us shudder, probably!
Young men have such bad taste nowadays!"
"Let us see, father," said the old spinster.
The case opened by the pressure of a spring.
They found in it nothing but a carefully folded paper.
"From the same to the same," said M. Gillenormand, bursting with laughter.
"I know what it is.
A billet-doux."
"Ah! let us read it!" said the aunt.
And she put on her spectacles.
They unfolded the paper and read as follows:--
"For my son.--The Emperor made me a Baron on the battlefield of Waterloo.
Since the Restoration disputes my right to this title which I purchased with my blood, my son shall take it and bear it. That he will be worthy of it is a matter of course."
The feelings of father and daughter cannot be described.
They felt chilled as by the breath of a death''s-head. They did not exchange a word.
Only, M. Gillenormand said in a low voice and as though speaking to himself:--
"It is the slasher''s handwriting."
The aunt examined the paper, turned it about in all directions, then put it back in its case.
At the same moment a little oblong packet, enveloped in blue paper, fell from one of the pockets of the great-coat. Mademoiselle Gillenormand picked it up and unfolded the blue paper.