"Ah, indeed!" replied the minister, blankly.
"I had the pleasure of receiving a note from you at Antwerp," added the American celebrity, annoyed at the coolness of the revolutionist.
"A note from me!" exclaimed the Belgian celebrity, curtly. "I never saw you or heard of you before in my life."
Mr. Hamblin produced the formidable envelope, and drew therefrom the epistle of sweet savor, which had been such a comfort to him in his troubles. He presented it to the minister, satisfied that this would recall the matter to his recollection.
"This note is not from me. I did not write it," said the Belgian, when he had glanced hastily at the page.
"Really, I beg your excellency's pardon; but it is signed with your name."
"It is a forgery—what you Americans call a practical joke, probably. I haven't been in Antwerp for months."
There was an apparent convulsion in the fat frame of Mr. Stoute, who was evidently struggling to suppress his mirth, or keep it within decent limits.
"I am very sorry, sir," stammered Mr. Hamblin.
"The letter is an imposition, sir. I never heard of you before in my life," added the great Belgian, tossing the note back to the professor, with an impatience which indicated that he never wished to see him again.