Forgive my importunity, and will you be good enough to send me an answer by the same way you receive this letter--that is to say, by means of the silk winder; only, instead of throwing into my room, as I have thrown it into yours, which will be too difficult for you to attempt, have the goodness merely to let it fall.

Believe me, mademoiselle, your most humble, most respectful servant, "MALICORNE.
"Write the reply, if you please, upon the letter itself." "Ah! poor fellow," exclaimed La Valliere, "he must have gone out of his mind;" and she directed towards her correspondent--of whom she caught but a faint glimpse, in consequence of the darkness of the room--a look full of compassionate consideration.

Malicorne understood her, and shook his head, as if he meant to say, "No, no, I am not out of my mind; be quite satisfied." She smiled, as if still in doubt.
"No, no," he signified by a gesture, "my head is right," and pointed to his head, then, after moving his hand like a man who writes very rapidly, he put his hands together as if entreating her to write.
La Valliere, even if he were mad, saw no impropriety in doing what Malicorne requested her; she took a pencil and wrote "Wood," and then walked slowly from her window to her bed, and wrote, "Six paces," and having done this, she looked out again at Malicorne, who bowed to her, signifying that he was about to descend.

La Valliere understood that it was to pick up the silk winder.

She approached the window, and, in accordance with Malicorne's instructions, let it fall.