"That would, indeed, be a privilege. Who is this lady?"
"Her name," said Dalrymple, with an involuntary glance at the little note upon his desk, "is Madame de Courcelles. She is a very charming and accomplished lady."
I decided in my own mind that Madame de Courcelles was the writer of that note.
"Is she married?" was my next question.
"She is a widow," replied Dalrymple. "Monsieur de Courcelles was many years older than his wife, and held office as a cabinet minister during the greater part of the reign of Louis Phillippe. He has been dead these four or five years."
"Then she is rich?"
"No--not rich; but sufficiently independent."
"And handsome?"
"Not handsome, either; but graceful, and very fascinating."
Graceful, fascinating, independent, and a widow! Coupling these facts with the correspondence which I believed I had detected, I grouped them into a little romance, and laid out my friend's future career as confidently as if it had depended only on myself to marry him out of hand, and make all parties happy.