"I have a sad headache."
He cast his eyes over the table and took mechanically the pen which Frowenfeld extended toward him.
"What can I do for you, Professor? Sign something? There is nothing I would not do for Professor Frowenfeld. What have you written, eh?"
He felt helplessly for his spectacles.
Frowenfeld read:
"Mr. Sylvestre Grandissime: I spoke in haste."
He felt himself tremble as he read. Agricola fumbled with the pen, lifted his eyes with one more effort at the old look, said, "My dear boy, I do this purely to please you," and to Frowenfeld's delight and astonishment wrote:
"Your affectionate uncle, Agricola Fusilier."