“Messieurs et mesdames” he said, “that manuscrip’ is no mo’ agcept’ than rij-ect’.  That stadement, tha’z only to rilease those insuranze companie’ and——­”

“And to stop us from telegraphing!” M. De l’Isle broke in, “and to make us, ad the end, glad to get even a small price!  Ah, mesdemoiselles, you don’t know those razcal’ like me!”

“Oh!” cried the tender Yvonne—­original rescuer of Marie Madeleine from boy lynchers—­“you don’t have charitie!  That way you make yo’seff un’appie.”

“Me, I cann’ think,” her sister persevered, “that tha’z juz’ for the insuranse.  The manuscrip’ is receive’?  Well! ’ow can you receive something if you don’t agcept it?  And ‘ow can you agcep’ that if you don’ receive it?  Ah-h-h!”

“No,” Beloiseau rejoined, “tha’z only to signify that the editorial decision—­tha’z not decide’.”

Mlle. Corinne lifted both hands to the entire jury:  “Oh, frien’, I assure you, that manuscrip’ is agcept’.  And tha’z the proof; that both Yvonne and me we’ve had a presentiment of that already sinze the biggening!  Ah-h-h!”

Castanado intervened:  “Mademoiselle, that lady yonder”—­he gave his wife a courtier’s bow—­“will tell you a differenze.  Once on a time she receive’ a h-offer of marriage; but ’twas not till after many days thad she agcept’ it.” [Applause.] “But ad the en’, I su’pose tha’z for Mr. Chezter, our legal counsel, to conclude.”

Mr. Chester “thought that although receipt did not imply acceptance the tardiness of this letter did argue a probability that the manuscript had successfully passed some sort of preliminary reading—­or readings—­and now awaited only the verdict of the editor-in-chief.”

“Or,” ventured Mme. Alexandre, “of that editorial board all together.”

M. De l’Isle shook his head and then a stiff finger:  “I tell you!  They are sicretly inquiring Thorndyke-Smith—­lit’ry magnet—­to fine out if we are truz’-worthy!  And tha’z the miztake we did—–­not sen’ing the photograph of Mlle. Aline ad the biggening.  But tha’z not yet too late; we can wire them from firz’ drug-store, ‘Suspen’ judgment!  Portrait of authorezz coming!’”

All eyes, even Cupid’s, turned to her.  She was shaking her head.  “No,” she responded, with a smile as lovely, to Chester’s fancy, as it was final; as final, to the two aunts’ conviction, as it was lovely.

“No photograph would be convincing,” Chester began to plead, but stopped for the aunts.

“Oh, impossible!” they cried.  “That wou’n’ be de-corouz!”

“Ladies an’ gentlemen,” said M. Castanado, “we are on a joy-ride.”

“An’ we ’ave reason!” his wife exclaimed.

“Biccause hope!” Mme. Alexandre put in.

“Yes!” said Dubroca.  “That manuscrip’ is not allone receive’; sinze more than a week ’tis rittain’, whiles they dillib-rate; and the chateau what dillib-rate’—­you know, eh?  M’sieu’ De l’Isle, I move you we go h-on.”