“I sprang up and held out both my hands to welcome him.
“He raised one to his lips, bowed over it, and said:
“‘I hope I find you well, madame.’
“‘Oh! I am so glad—so glad to see you!’ I exclaimed, at random.
“He took a seat.
“I sank into my easy chair, my heart beating with excitement, with tumult, only to see the face of a friend.
“‘I am very happy to come to you,’ he said. ‘I hope Saviola is well,’ he added—dubiously, as I thought.
“‘He is always well,’ I replied. ‘He is in Paris.’
“‘You hear from him daily, of course?’
“‘No. He is a poor correspondent. I shall not hear from him until I see him, I fear.’