"Never, monsieur," I replied. "Who was there for me to write to, buried away as I have been in a little country town?"
This humble confession touched M. de Broval.
"See," he said, heating the wax, "this is how one seals a letter."
And, believe me, he sealed the letter at arm's length, with as steady a hand as though he had been twenty-five years of age. Then, taking a large silver seal, he pressed it on the lake of burning wax, and did not withdraw it until the impress was clearly defined and I could see the escutcheon with the three heraldic fleurs-de-lis of Orléans, surmounted by the ducal coronet.
I was disheartened, I must confess.
"Write the address," M. le Chevalier de Broval said imperiously.
I wrote the address with a trembling hand.
"Good, good!" said M. le Chevalier de Broval; "don't be discouraged, my boy.... It is all right; now countersign it."
I stopped, completely ignorant of what a countersign was.
M. de Broval began to realise, as General Foy had done, how ignorant I was. He pointed with a finger to the corner of the letter.