“In the Bazaar. You were with a charming lady, and you gave me these buckles” (she shewed me them on her shoes), “and you also did me the honour to kiss me.”
I recollected the circumstance, and the reader will remember that I was with Madame Baret, the fair stocking-seller.
“Now I remember you,” said I; “but I do not recognize your aunt.”
“This is the sister of the one you saw, but if you will take tea with us you will see her.”
“Where do you live?”
“In Denmark Street, Soho.”
CHAPTER XI
The Charpillon—Dreadful Consequences of My Acquaintance With Her
The name Charpillon reminded me that I was the bearer of a letter for her, and drawing it from my pocket-book I gave it her, saying that the document ought to cement our acquaintance.
“What!” she exclaimed, “a letter from the dear ambassador Morosini. How delighted I am to have it! And you have actually been all these months in London without giving it me?”