She spoke to, so to say, the jargon of love, and Rodolphe insisted upon speaking the classic language.

Thus they scarcely understood each other.
A week later, at the same ball at which she had found Rodolphe, Louise met a fair young fellow, who danced with her several times, and at the close of the entertainment took her home with him.
He was a second year's student.

He spoke the prose of pleasure very fluently, and had good eyes and a well-lined pocket.
Louise asked him for ink and paper, and wrote to Rodolphe a letter couched as follows:-- "Do not rekkon on me at all.

I sende you a kiss for the last time.
Good bye.
Louise." As Rodolphe was reading this letter on reaching home in the evening, his light suddenly went out.
"Hallo!" said he, reflectively, "it is the candle I first lit on the evening that Louise came--it was bound to finish with our union.

If I had known I would have chosen a longer one," he added, in a tone of half annoyance, half of regret, and he placed his mistress' note in a drawer, which he sometimes styled the catacomb of his loves.
One day, being at Marcel's, Rodolphe picked up from the ground to light his pipe with, a scrap of paper on which he recognized his handwriting and the orthography of Louise.
"I have," said he to his friend, "an autograph of the same person, only there are two mistakes the less than in yours.