to be called.  It nearly broke my heart to see those horrid men tramping over the delicate carpets, their coarse faces set against the sweet colour of that beautiful English cretonne....  And all the while the pastel by Manet, the great hat set like an aureole about the face—­’the eyes deep set in crimson shadow,’ ‘the fan widespread across the bosom’ (you see I am quoting your own words), looking down, the mistress of that little paradise of tapestry.  She seemed to resent the intrusion.  I looked once or twice half expecting those eyes ‘deep set in crimson shadow’ to fill with tears.  But nothing altered her great dignity; she seemed to see all, but as a Buddha she remained impenetrable....

“I was there the night before the sale.  I looked through the hooks, taking notes of those I intended to buy—­those which we used to read together when the snow lay high about the legs of the poor faun in terre cuite, that laughed amid the frosty boulingrins.  I found a large packet of letters which I instantly destroyed.  You should not be so careless; I wonder how it is that men are always careless about their letters.

“The sale was announced for one o’clock.  I wore a thick veil, for I did not wish to be recognised; the concierge of course knew me, but she can be depended upon.  The poor old woman was in tears, so sorry was she to see all your pretty things sold up.  You left owing her a hundred francs, but I have paid her; and talking of you we waited till the auctioneer arrived.  Everything had been pulled down; the tapestry from the walls, the picture, the two vases I gave you were on the table waiting the stroke of the hammer.  And then the men, all the marchands de meubles in the quartier, came upstairs, spitting and talking coarsely—­their foul voices went through me.  They stamped, spat, pulled the things about, nothing escaped them.  One of them held up the Japanese dressing-gown and made some horrible jokes; and the auctioneer, who was a humorist, answered, “If there are any ladies’ men present, we shall have some spirited bidding.”  The pastel I bought, and I shall keep it and try to find some excuse to satisfy my husband, but I send you the miniature, and I hope you will not let it be sold again.  There were many other things I should have liked to have bought but I did not dare—­the organ that you used to play hymns on and I waltzes on, the Turkish lamp which we could never agree about ... but when I saw the satin shoes which I gave you to carry the night of that adorable ball, and which you would not give back, but nailed up on the wall on either side of your bed and put matches in, I was seized with an almost invincible desire to steal them.  I don’t know why, un caprice de femme.  No one but you would have ever thought of converting satin shoes into match boxes.  I wore them at that delicious ball; we danced all night together, and you had an explanation with my husband (I was a little