"Mon tout"—(turning his long, sleepy eyes sentimentally toward me)—"je ne saurai vous le dire."
"My whole—I cannot tell it you!—then why on earth did you ask me?" cry I, breaking out into hearty, wholesome laughter.
Again he blackens.
"Well, have you guessed it?"
"Guessed it!" I echo, recovering my gravity. "Not I!—my first is the first of all—my second has no second—my whole, I cannot tell it you!—I do not believe it is a riddle at all! it is a hoax—a take-in, like 'Why does a miller wear a white hat?'"
"It is nothing of the kind," he answers, looking thoroughly annoyed. "Must I tell you the answer?"
"I shall certainly never arrive at it by my unassisted genius," I reply, yawning. "Ah! there is M. Dom going out riding! Alas! never again shall I see him mount that peacocking steed!"
"It is 'Adieu!'" says my companion, blurting it out in a rage, seeing that I will not be interested in or excited by it.
"Adieu!" repeat I, standing with my mouth wide open, looking perfectly blank. "How?"
"You do not see?" he says. (His face has grown scarlet.) "Well, you must excuse me for saying that you are rather—" He breaks off and begins again, very fast this time. "My first is the first of all—is not A the first letter in the alphabet? My second has no second—has God (Dieu) any second? My whole—I cannot say it to you—Adieu!"