“No; but for a moment I have had the foolish hope that for this money, and through pity, you would permit me to look at you, to touch your hand, to hear your voice, and then, at sunset, I would depart so happy as to bless your memory forever.”
“What? Only for a day?”
“Three hours,—two,—one.”
“On your word?”
“I have never lied.”
“Be seated,” said Adéonne, coldly. Then the cantatrice summoned her femme de chambre, to whom she said,—
“Jenny, I am not at home to anybody.”