“‘May I speak to him?’
“‘What do you want?’
“‘I have come for the answer to a letter I wrote him a few days ago.’
“‘He is not to be spoken to, Mademoiselle, but you may say to the person who had you write—for surely it is not you who wrote a letter like that—’
“‘Pardon me,’ I interrupted—
“‘The handwriting is a man’s.’
“‘Do you want to see me write?’ I said, laughing.
“She shook her head, adding, ‘All that I can say to you is that my husband has given up all these things absolutely. He has left all. He would not ask anything better than to be of service; but he is of an age to rest.’
“‘I know it, but I should have been flattered to have had this answer from his mouth. I would have profited eagerly by the opportunity to render homage to the man whom I esteem the highest of the world. Receive it, Madame.’
“She thanked me, keeping her hand on the lock, and I descended the stairs with the meagre satisfaction of knowing that he found my letter sufficiently well written not to believe it the work of a woman.”