"It may be I do now, Madame, but did I flatter myself when you wrote me this note ?" And he drew it out and flourished it in her face.

"Did I imagine when I read this?
Or is it not in your hand?
It is a forgery, perhaps," he continued bitterly.

"Or it means nothing?
Nothing, this note bidding me be at Madame St.Lo's at an hour before midnight--it means nothing?
At an hour before midnight, Madame!" "On Saturday night?
The night before last night ?" "On Saturday night, the night before last night! But Madame knows nothing of it?
Nothing, I suppose ?" She shrugged her shoulders and smiled cheerfully on him.

"Oh yes, I wrote it," she said.

"But what of that, M.de Tignonville ?" "What of that ?" "Yes, Monsieur, what of that?
Did you think it was written out of love for you ?" He was staggered for the moment by her coolness.