Chapter xlv. The Dust-Heap Disturbed.
My head turned giddy. I was obliged to wait and let my overpowering agitation subside, before I could read any more.
Looking at the letter again, after an interval, my eyes fell accidentally on a sentence near the end, which surprised and startled me.
I stopped the driver of the carriage, at the entrance to the street in which our lodgings were situated, and told him to take me to the beautiful park of Paris — the famous Bois de Boulogne. My object was to gain time enough, in this way, to read the letter carefully through by myself, and to ascertain whether I ought or ought not to keep the receipt of it a secret before I confronted my husband and his mother at home.
This precaution taken, I read the narrative which my good Benjamin had so wisely an
