“The next time I was eight months without seeing her. But one freezing morning in January, I was walking along the Boulevard Malesherbes at a dog trot, so as to keep warm, when at the corner I bumped into a woman and knocked a small package out of her hand. I tried to apologize. It was she!
“At first I stood stock still from the shock; then having returned to her the package which she had dropped, I said abruptly:
“'I am both grieved and delighted, madame, to have jostled you. For more than two years I have known you, admired you, and had the most ardent wish to be presented to you; nevertheless I have been unable to find out who you are, or where you live. Please excuse these foolish words. Attribute them to a passionate desire to be numbered among your acquaintances. Such sentiments can surely offend you in no way! You do not know me. My name is Baron Roger des Annettes. Make inquiries about me, and you will find that I am a gentleman. Now, if you refuse my request, you will throw me into abject misery. Please be good to me and tell me how I can see you.'
“She looked at me with her strange vacant stare, and answered smilingly:
“'Give me your address. I will come and see you.'
“I was so dumfounded that I must have shown my surprise. But I quickly gathered my wits together and gave her a visiting card, which she slipped into her pocket with a quick, deft movement.
“Becoming bolder, I stammered:
“'When shall I see you again?'
“She hesitated, as though mentally running over her list of engagements, and then murmured:
“'Will Sunday morning suit you?'