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 How great, then, was her wonder and surprise, when, the evening in the beginning of June, the second year of her stay at Labutín, on returning to a favourite place in the park, where she had forgotten her book, she found a little note in it! It was addressed to her by the baron’s hand, and sealed with his ring, which she knew very well.

Jenny spent a restless, sleepless night; her mind filled with anxious, contending thoughts. She had a presentiment, she even felt almost certain, that she was launched by that letter upon a stormy sea, where either the happiness or misfortune of her future life would be decided. But she did not belong to the weak, helpless class of women. She called upon all the good spirits to help and strengthen her mind, and finally resolved to quench the strife within her by taking a decided step. She did not open the baron’s letter, but wrote to him, saying she returned his note unread, because she had—at least, tacitly—promised his anxious mother, on first coming to Labutín Castle, that she would carefully avoid anything like flirtation or coquetry. But she sweetened this bitter pill a little by adding she was convinced the baron did not, and could not, ask anything wrong from her, but that she felt obliged to act as she now did, for her own peace of mind as well as for his, and out of regard for the whole noble family, under whose friendly roof she had found, and still enjoyed, the comfort of a home, and protection in the battle of life. At the same time, she begged that the whole affair of the letter might be buried in oblivion, and their intercourse continue on the same polite footing as before.

This answer she delivered herself, as soon as an opportunity offered, into the baron’s own hand. She did not