“I wanted to see you,” she said, “to return the two hundred sequins which you lent me so nobly. Here they are; be good enough to give me back my note of hand.”
“Your note of hand, madam, is no longer in my possession. I have deposited it in a sealed envelope with the notary who, according to this receipt of his, can return it only to you.”
“Why did you not keep it yourself?”
“Because I was afraid of losing it, or of having it stolen. And in the event of my death I did not want such a document to fall into any other hands but yours.”
“A great proof of your extreme delicacy, certainly, but I think you ought to have reserved the right of taking it out of the notary’s custody yourself.”
“I did not forsee the possibility of calling for it myself.”
“Yet it was a very likely thing. Then I can send word to the notary to transmit it to me?”
“Certainly, madam; you alone can claim it.”
She sent to the notary, who brought the note himself.
She tore the envelope open, and found only a piece of paper besmeared with ink, quite illegible, except her own name, which had not been touched.