“This is the Histoire Intime,” said he, laying it gently on the table.
And we laid our hand upon it, fetching a deep sigh. Our misgivings, however, were lighted with a happy idea. We will hire a few boys to read it, we thought, and mark out the passages which please them most. That will be just what an editor wants.
“And this,” continued the Poet, laying down the other bundle, “is the original manuscript of my forthcoming Book of Poems.––”
Sweet of him, we thought, to present it to us.
“It will be issued next Autumn in Cairo.––”
Fortunate City!
“And if you will get to work on it at once,––”
Mercy!
“You can get out an English Translation in three month, I am sure––”
We sink in our chair in breathless amazement.