I was a mere child, leaving my poor mother to struggle along for a
livelihood as best she could. My mother died last year, Monsieur, and
I have hard a hard life; and now it seems that my father made a
in England and left it all to me." I was greatly interested in her
story. "The first intimation I had of it, Monsieur, was three months
ago, when I had a letter from an English lawyer in London telling me
that my father, Jean Paul Bachelier--that
was his name, Monsieur--had
died out there and made a will leaving
all his money, about one hundred thousand francs, to me." "Yes, yes!"
I murmured, for my throat felt parched and my eyes dim. Hundred
thousand francs! Ye gods! "It seems," she proceeded demurely, "that
put it in his will that the English lawyers were to pay me the
interest on the money until I
married or reached the age of twenty-one. Then the whole of the money
was to be handed over to me."
I had to steady myself against the table or I would have fallen over
backwards! This godlike creature,
to whom the sum of one hundred thousand francs was to be paid over
when she married, had come to me for help and advice! The thought
sent my brain reeling! I am so imaginative! "Proceed,
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