Pierrette felt able to bear everything.  Brigaut would come at midnight and bring her an answer, and that hope was the viaticum of her day.  But she was using up her last strength.  She did not go to bed, and stood waiting for the hour to strike.  At last midnight sounded; softly she opened the window; this time she used a string made by tying bits of twine together.  She heard Brigaut’s step, and on drawing up the cord she found the following letter, which filled her with joy:—­

My dear Pierrette,—­As you are so ill you must not tire yourself by waiting for me.  You will hear me if I cry like an owl.  Happily my father taught me to imitate their note.  So when you hear the cry three times you will know I am there, and then you must let down the cord.  But I shall not come again for some days.  I hope then to bring you good news.

Oh!  Pierrette, don’t talk of dying!  Pierrette, don’t think such things!  All my heart shook, I felt as though I were dead myself at the mere idea.  No, my Pierrette, you must not die; you will live happy, and soon you shall be delivered from your persecutors.  If I do not succeed in what I am undertaking for your rescue, I shall appeal to the law, and I shall speak out before heaven and earth and tell how your wicked relations are treating you.  I am certain that you have not many more days to suffer; have patience, my Pierrette!  Jacques is watching over you as in the old days when we slid on the pond and I pulled you out of the hole in which we were nearly drowned together.

Adieu, my dear Pierrette; in a few days, if God wills, we shall be happy.  Alas, I dare not tell you the only thing that may hinder our meeting.  But God loves us!  In a few days I shall see my dear Pierrette at liberty, without troubles, without any one to hinder my looking at you—­for, ah!  Pierrette, I hunger to see you —­Pierrette, Pierrette, who deigns to love me and to tell me so.  Yes, Pierrette, I will be your lover when I have earned the fortune you deserve; till then I will be to you only a devoted servant whose life is yours to do what you please with it.  Adieu.

       Jacques Brigaut.

Here is a letter of which the major’s son said nothing to Pierrette.  He wrote it to Madame Lorrain at Nantes:—­

Madame Lorrain,—­Your granddaughter will die, worn-out with ill-treatment, if you do not come to fetch her.  I could scarcely recognize her; and to show you the state of things I enclose a letter I have received from Pierrette.  You are thought here to have taken the money of your granddaughter, and you ought to justify yourself.  If you can, come at once.  We may still be happy; but if delay Pierrette will be dead.

  I am, with respect, your devoted servant,
       Jacques Brigaut.

  At Monsieur Frappier’s, Cabinet-maker, Grand’Rue, Provins.

Brigaut’s fear was that the grandmother was dead.