A short time after our departure he got into communication with his family and discovered that affairs were beginning to improve. He returned home and found everybody safe and sound, except, of course, his unfortunate father.
After having told me this story, which explained his sadness at the time of our first meeting, he asked me:
“How can I be of service to you? You seem to have everything that success can bring, but there is one thing I can do, and one which, I am sure, will give you great pleasure. I can present you to my old friend, Alexandre Dumas,” he added, with a pretty smile.
“Really,” I said, overcome with joy. “Are you really willing to introduce me to the author of La Dame aux Camélias?”
“Yes, indeed,” he replied.
That was worth a dozen visits to Jamaica, and I thanked him effusively.
A few days later he came to take me to Marly, where the great writer lived.
During the journey in the railway carriage M. Poulle taught me a French phrase, which I was to say when Dumas extended his hand: “Je suis très contente de serrer votre main” (“I am delighted to grasp your hand”). And of course, when the psychological moment arrived, I phrased the words all askew. Instead of taking one of his hands I grasped both and emphatically and with stress on each word, I said: “Je suis très contente de votre main serrée” (“I am delighted with your close-fisted hand”). I did not understand his reply, but my friend later on told me that Dumas had replied: “My hand is not close-fisted, but I know what you mean, child. My friend Poulle has related to me his experiences in Jamaica, and I open my heart and my hand in your service.”
The gesture he made is the only thing which I remember, for all the rest was Greek to me.
From this time on a great friendship, a great sympathy, subsisted between us, although we were unable to understand each other. Among the important men whom I have met few have exercised upon me a charm such as that of Dumas. At first a little cold, almost stiff in manner, he became, on further acquaintance, exquisitely affable, and of a gallantry suggestive of the fine manners of the old days. At first his words continued obscure to me, but gradually, as I became familiar with the French language, I fell under the irresistible charm of his conversation, with its beautifully logical and rounded phrases, enamelled as it was with sparkling flashes of wit. Dumas had practically two voices, two styles of speech; one which he employed in ordinary circumstances, as in asking certain questions, or in giving orders; the other the one in which he discussed a subject that greatly interested him.