“Monsieur Pigeonneau,” she said, “you are such a dear man! Write me a little story and I will love you ever and ever and ever so much!”
“I don’t know how,” I replied.
She shrugged her shoulders and exclaimed:
“What is the use of science if it can’t help you to write a story! You must write me a story, Monsieur Pigeonnneau.”
Thinking it useless to repeat my absolute refusal I took my leave without replying.
At the door I passed the man with the Assyrian beard, Dr. Daoud, whose glance had so strangely affected me under the cupola of the Institute.
He struck me as being of the commonest class, and I found it very disagreeable to meet him again.
The Countess N———‘s ball took place about fifteen days after my visit. I was not surprised to read in the newspaper that the beautiful Miss Morgan had created a sensation in the costume of Neferu-Ra.
During the rest of the year 1886 I did not hear her mentioned again. But on the first day of the New Year, as I was writing in my study, a manservant brought me a letter and a basket.
“From Miss Morgan,” he explained, and went away. I heard a mewing in the basket which had been placed on my writing table, and when I opened it out sprang a little grey cat.