"I am ready, Citizen," she said, with a faint smile and a fainter emphasis on the form of address.
For the second time that day Dangeau flushed like a boy. He was glad that a table had to be drawn nearer the lamp, a chair pushed into position, ink and paper fetched. The interval sufficed to restore him to composure, and Mademoiselle being seated, he returned to his papers and to silence.
When the first page had been transcribed, Mademoiselle brought it over to him.
"Is that clear, and as you wish it, Citizen?"
"It is very good indeed, Citoyenne"; and this time his tongue remembered that it belonged to a Republican Deputy. If Mademoiselle smiled, he did not see it, and again the silence fell. At ten o'clock she rose.
"I cannot give you more time than this, I fear, Citizen," she said, and unconsciously her manner indicated that an audience was terminated. "My embroidery is still my 'cheval de bataille,' and I fear it would suffer if my eyes keep too late hours."
Her low "Good-night," her scarcely hinted curtsey passed, even whilst Dangeau rose, and before he could reach and open the door, she had passed out, and closed it behind her. Dangeau wrote late that night, and waked later still. His thoughts were very busy.
After some evenings of silent work, he asked her abruptly:
"What is your name?"
Mademoiselle gave a slight start, and answered without raising her head: