The author hesitated in perplexity, as he wanted to have the figure, but the price was above him, and he thought no more about her looking at him than if he had been alone in the desert.  She came in trembling, with her eyes fixed shamelessly upon him, and she did not even ask herself whether he were good-looking, elegant or young.  It was Jean Varin himself, Jean Varin.  After a long struggle, and painful hesitation, he put the figure down onto the table.  “No, it is too dear,” he said.  The shop-keeper’s eloquence redoubled.  “Oh!  Monsieur Varin, too dear?  It is worth two thousand francs, if it is worth a son.”  But the man of letters replied sadly, still looking at the figure with the enameled eyes:  “I do not say it is not; but it is too dear for me.”  And thereupon, she, seized by a kind of mad audacity, came forward and said:  “What shall you charge me for the figure?” The shop-keeper, in surprise, replied:  “Fifteen hundred francs, Madame.”  “I will take it.”

The writer, who had not even noticed her till that moment, turned round suddenly; he looked at her from head to foot, with half-closed eyes, observantly, and then he took in the details, as a connoisseur.  She was charming, suddenly animated by that flame which had hitherto been dormant in her.  And then, a woman who gives fifteen hundred francs for a knick-knack is not to be met with every day.

But she was overcome by a feeling of delightful delicacy, and turning to him, she said in a trembling voice:  “Excuse me, Monsieur; no doubt I have been rather hasty, as perhaps you had not finally made up your mind.”  He, however, only bowed, and said:  “Indeed, I had, Madame.”  And she, filled with emotion, continued:  “Well, Monsieur, if either to-day, or at any other time, you change your mind, you can have this Japanese figure.  I only bought it because you seemed to like it.”

He was visibly flattered, and smiled.  “I should much like to find out how you know who I am?” he said.  Then she told him how she admired him, and became quite eloquent as she quoted his works, and while they were talking he rested his arms on a table, and fixed his bright eyes upon her, trying to make out who and what she really was.  But the shop-keeper, who was pleased to have that living puff of his goods, called out, from the other end of the shop:  “Just look at this, Monsieur Varin; is it not beautiful?”

And then everyone looked round, and she almost trembled with pleasure at being seen talking so intimately with such a well-known man.

At last, however, intoxicated, as it were, by her feelings, she grew bold, like a general does, who is going to give the order for an assault.  “Monsieur,” she said, “will you do me a great, a very great pleasure?  Allow me to offer you this funny Japanese figure, as a keepsake from a woman who admires you passionately, and whom you have seen for ten minutes.”

Of course he refused, and she persisted, but still he resisted her offer, at which he was much amused, and at which he laughed heartily; but that only made her more obstinate, and she said:  “Very well, then, I shall take it to your house immediately.  Where do you live?”