I was mindful, lastly, that in England we are taught to ride straight, and I sat down and wrote to Madame that her husband was in good health, and that I quite hoped to see him depart in a few days for La Pauline.

I will not deny that the letter went into the post-box followed by a curse.
We may, however, write letters and post them.

We may--if we be great men--indite despatches and give them into the hands of trusty messengers, and a little twirl of Fortune's wheel will send all our penmanship to the winds.
While I was smoking a pipe and deciphering a long communication received from the gentleman who further entangled my affairs in England, a visitor was announced to me.
"Monsieur Alphonse Giraud." "Why ?" I wondered as I rose to receive this gentleman.

"Why, Monsieur Alphonse Giraud ?" He was already in the doorway, and, I made no doubt, had conceived an ultra-British toilet for the occasion.

For outwardly he was more English than myself.