can write tolerably, and that we can make out bills and keep accounts, this being particularly convenient to her at present, as the young man she had in the shop is become an orator, and good for nothing but la chose publique; her son, who could have supplied his place, is ill; and Madame Feuillot herself, not having had, as she says, the advantage of such a good education as we have been blessed with, writes but badly, and knows nothing of arithmetic.  Dear Madame de Fleury, how much, how very much we are obliged to you!  We feel it every day more and more; in these times what would have become of us if we could do nothing useful?  Who would, who could be burdened with us?  Dear madame, we owe everything to you—­and we can do nothing, not the least thing for you!  My mother is still in bad health, and I fear will never recover; Babet is with her always, and Sister Frances is very good to her.  My brother Maurice is now so good a workman that he earns a louis a week.  He is very steady to his business, and never goes to the revolutionary meetings, though once he had a great mind to be an orator of the people, but never since the day that you explained to him that he knew nothing about equality and the rights of men, &c.  How could I forget to tell you, that his master the smith, who was one of your guards, and who assisted you to escape, has returned without suspicion to his former trade? and he declares that he will never more meddle with public affairs.  I gave him the money you left with me for him.  He is very kind to my brother.  Yesterday Maurice mended for Annette’s mistress the lock of an English writing-desk, and he mended it so astonishingly well, that an English gentleman, who saw it, could not believe the work was done by a Frenchman; so my brother was sent for, to prove it, and they were forced to believe it.  To-day he has more work than he can finish this twelve-month—­all this we owe to you.  I shall never forget the day when you promised that you would grant my brother’s wish to be apprenticed to the smith, if I was not in a passion for a month; that cured me of being so passionate.

“Dear Madame de Fleury, I have written you too long a letter, and not so well as I can write when I am not in a hurry; but I wanted to tell you everything at once, because, may be, I shall not for a long time have so safe an opportunity of sending a letter to you.

   “VICTOIRE.”

Several months elapsed before Madame do Fleury received another letter from Victoire; it was short and evidently written in great distress of mind.  It contained an account of her mother’s death.  She was now left at the early age of sixteen an orphan.  Madame Feuillot, the brodeuse, with whom she lived, added few lines to her letter, penned with difficulty and strangely spelled, but, expressive of her being highly pleased with both the girls recommended to her by Madame de Fleury, especially Victoire, who