“You never write?”
“Never.”
“Then how the mischief do you manage?”
“I compose. Since I met you, I have composed and dictated a whole chapter of the Memoirs of a Physician.”
“Dictated?”
“To be sure. It is already written down, and will be circulated throughout Paris to-morrow.”
“Monsieur le Marquis—have I the honour to hold an interview with Satan?”
“Mon cher, vous me flattez beaucoup! I have not thought it necessary to intrust my experiences to the sympathising bosom of M. Frédéric Soulié.”
“Have you a familiar spirit, then?” said I, casting a suspicious glance towards the poodle, then vigorously engaged in hunting through its woolly fleece.
The Marquis smiled.