"Why, he writes poetry!"
"Ah! yes, quite so, poetry...."
A light dawned on me.
"Have I the honour of addressing M. Parseval de Grandmaison?" I asked.
"Yes, monsieur," he replied.
Then, turning to the other old gentleman, he said—
"Only think, my dear Pieyre, I am so absent-minded, that the most extraordinary thing happened to me the other day."
"What was it?"
"Just imagine! I forgot my own name."