If Carlotta's gossamer follies had been thrown into the vagabond court of the Queen of Navarre, I wonder whether those delectable stories would have been written?
As Antoinette does not understand literary English, and as Carlotta did not know what in the world I was talking about, I was master of the conversational situation.

Carlotta went to the mantel-piece and returned with a glutinous mass of sweet stuff between her fingers.
"Will Seer Marcous have some?
It is nougat." I declined.

"Oh!" she said, tragically disappointed.

"It is good." There is something in that silly creature's eyes that I cannot resist.
She put the abominable morsel into my mouth--it was far too sticky for me to hold--and laughingly licked her own fingers.
I went down to work again with an uneasy feeling of imperilled dignity.
May 29th.
I sent her word that I would take her for a drive this afternoon.

She was to be ready at three o'clock.