me to come and listen to confidences such as those. While we were taking our coffee, I asked him what it was he had to tell me. He looked at me rather surprised:
"Had I anything to tell you?"
"Dame! You wrote: 'Come and lunch tomorrow. I want to talk to you.'"
As he was silent I took the letter from my pocket and showed it to him. The address was in his attractive running hand, somewhat irregular. On the envelope there was a seal in violet wax.
He passed his hand over his forehead.
"I remember. Be so kind as to go to Féral's, he will show you a study by Romney; a young woman; golden hair the reflection of which gilds her cheeks and forehead. . . . Pupils dark blue, giving a bluish tinge to the whole eye. . . . The warm freshness of her complexion. . . . It is delicious. And an arm like gold-beater's skin. However, look at it and see if. . . ."
He paused. And with his hand on the door handle:
"Wait for me. I will put on my coat and we will go out together.'"
Left alone in the dining-room, I went to the window, and, more attentively than before, examined
