Oh, thank you!" In the ardor of her gratitude, she wanted to kiss her mother; but the baroness declined the embrace politely, and said, coldly and bitterly, "I shall not ask much; I should not venture now to draw largely on your affection; it's only to write a few lines for me." Rose got paper and ink with great alacrity, and sat down all beaming, pen in hand.
The baroness dictated the letter slowly, with an eye gimleting her daughter all the time.
"Dear--Monsieur--Riviere." The pen fell from Rose's hand, and she turned red and then pale.
"What! write to him ?" "Not in your own name; in mine.

But perhaps you prefer to give me the trouble." "Cruel! cruel!" sighed Rose, and wrote the words as requested.
The baroness dictated again,-- "Oblige me by coming here at your very earliest convenience." "But, mamma, if he is in Normandy," remonstrated Rose, fighting every inch of the ground.
"Never you mind where he is," said the baroness.

"Write as I request." "Yes, mamma," said Rose with sudden alacrity; for she had recovered her ready wit, and was prepared to write anything, being now fully resolved the letter should never go.
"Now sign my name." Rose complied.

"There; now fold it, and address it to his lodgings." Rose did so; and, rising with a cheerful air, said she would send Jacintha with it directly.
She was half across the room when her mother called her quietly back.
"No, mademoiselle," said she sternly.

"You will give me the letter.
I can trust neither the friend of twenty years, nor the servant that stayed by me in adversity, nor the daughter I suffered for and nursed.
And why don't I trust you?
Because YOU HAVE TOLD ME A LIE." At this word, which in its coarsest form she had never heard from those high-born lips till then, Rose cowered like a hare.
"Ay, A LIE," said the baroness.