—voilà! it is a man! Perhaps you are preparing for the ministry."
She assumed a solemn look, glancing up at me as if in mockery of my sober face. She was a slim, fine brunette, who, as I knew, had long been a confidante of Louison.
"Alas! ma'm'selle, I am worried. I have no longer any peace."
"Do you miss them?" she inquired, a knowing look in her handsome eyes. "Do not think me impertinent."
"More than I miss my mother," I said.
"I have a letter," said she, smiling. "I do not know—I thought I should show it to you, but—but not to-day."
"Is it from them?"
"It is from Louison—from Tiptoes."
"And—and it speaks of me?"
"Ah, m'sieur," said she, arching her brows, "it has indeed much to say of you."
"And—and may I not see it?" I asked eagerly. "Ma'm'selle, I tell you I—I must see it."
"Why?" She stirred the mane of her horse with a red riding-whip.
