At the end of an hour, Carolus, with infinite oratorial address, brought in a phrase which, despite its humble form, was neither more nor less than a summons made to Rodolphe to hear a little work, the fruit of Barbemuche's vigils.
The poet saw himself caught.

Curious, however, to learn the color of the other's style, he bowed politely, assured him that he was enchanted, that Carolus did not wait for him to finish the sentence.

He ran to bolt the door, and then took up a small memorandum book, the thinness of which brought a smile of satisfaction to the poet's face.
"Is that the manuscript of your work ?" he asked.
"No," replied Carolus.

"It is the catalog of my manuscripts and I am looking for the one which you will allow me to read you.

Here it is: 'Don Lopez or Fatality No.