* * * * * * *
“Madame Beau,” said I, “when you shall be nearing old age—that is to say, when your present years double themselves—it is very certain that your lines will fall in pleasant places.”
“And where will they be?” said she.
“Where, but round your fine eyes and the dimples of your mouth!”
She cried, “Oh, qu’il est malin!” and tapped my shoulder archly with a great key she held in her hand.
“And what is the favour you design to ask of me?” she said.
“Firstly your permission to me to dedicate some verses to you,” said I. “After that, that you will procure me the immediate delivery of this little tube of paper.”
“To whom is it addressed?”
“To one Crépin, who lives in the Rue de Jouy, St Antoine.”
“Croyez m’en!” she cried. “Do you not see I have dropped my key?”