"Willingly: when shall we call?"
"As soon as possible: meanwhile I will carry this with me." She lightly jumped on a chair, took my portrait and retreated with it to the door, saying, "Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, No. 42, to-morrow."
"Not so fast, please," said I, taking the canvas from her hand.
"Stingy fellow! you might let me have it. He would be so much surprised when you brought him chez moi to see it hanging on the wall. Give it to me;" and she held out her hand with a charming gesture.
"No, no, my dear: you may come and see it here whenever you like, but here it must remain."
I turned and hung it on its accustomed nail: when I looked again she was gone. Not even the sound of her foot on the stairs nor a moving shadow on the steps when I looked over the balustrade.
"Either the world is going mad, or I am," I exclaimed.
"You need not be in doubt which."
"Any one would think it odd. Could she be the forlorn widow in search of the portrait of the husband of her youth?"
"No."