She was exceedingly anxious not to commit any social solecism.
And then, while she was still hesitating, still sitting with the pen poised in her hand, there came a knock at the door.
The maid handed her a note; it was from Count Paul, the first letter he had ever written to her.
"Madame,"-- so ran the note--"it occurs to me that you might like to answer my sister in French, and so I venture to send you the sort of letter that you might perhaps care to write.

Each country has its own usages in these matters--that must be my excuse for my apparent impertinence." And then there followed a prettily-turned little epistle which Sylvia copied, feeling perhaps a deeper gratitude than a far greater service would have won him from her..