“Let’s have the letter!” Suzanne cried.
“Catch!” said the sculptor, tossing up to her the envelop weighted with a piece of clay.
“Well, I’m going!” said the little monsieur with the monocle.
“Wait! don’t go!” Suzanne cried, with her letter in her hand. “Let’s be correct. Messieurs, I present to you Monsieur Phil, a young Englishman—”
“American,” rectified Phil.
“A friend of one of my friends—the famous Helia—it’s too long to explain. M. Caracal, who writes in the—the—what-do-you-call-it—well, no matter—And Poufaille, sculptor, pupil of Boudin. There, the introductions are made!”
“Monsieur—”
“Monsieur—”
“Monsieur—”
There were three bows.