“You will not find me insensible to your offerings.”

“I would begin them at once, but I think that, in order to insure their efficiency, we ought to have supper first.  I have taken nothing to-day but a cup of chocolate and a salad of whites of eggs dressed with oil from Lucca and Marseilles vinegar.”

“But, dearest, it is folly! you must be ill?”

“Yes, I am just now, but I shall be all right when I have distilled the whites of eggs, one by one, into your amorous soul.”

“I did not think you required any such stimulants.”

“Who could want any with you?  But I have a rational fear, for if I happened to prime without being able to fire, I would blow my brains out.”

“My dear browny, it would certainly be a misfortune, but there would be no occasion to be in despair on that account.”

“You think that I would only have to prime again.”

“Of course.”

While we were bantering in this edifying fashion, the table had been laid, and we sat down to supper.  She ate for two and I for four, our excellent appetite being excited by the delicate cheer.  A sumptuous dessert was served in splendid silver-gilt plate, similar to the two candlesticks which held four wax candles each.  Seeing that I admired them, she said: 

“They are a present from my friend.”

“It is a magnificent present, has he given you the snuffers likewise?”

“No”

“It is a proof that your friend is a great nobleman.”

“How so?”

“Because great lords have no idea of snuffing the candle.”

“Our candles have wicks which never require that operation.”

“Good!  Tell me who has taught you French.”

“Old La Forest.  I have been his pupil for six years.  He has also taught me to write poetry, but you know a great many words which I never heard from him, such as ‘a gogo, frustratoire, rater, dorloter’.  Who taught you these words?”

“The good company in Paris, and women particularly.”

We made some punch, and amused ourselves in eating oysters after the voluptuous fashion of lovers.  We sucked them in, one by one, after placing them on the other’s tongue.  Voluptuous reader, try it, and tell me whether it is not the nectar of the gods!

At last, joking was over, and I reminded her that we had to think of more substantial pleasures.  “Wait here,” she said, “I am going to change my dress.  I shall be back in one minute.”  Left alone, and not knowing what to do, I looked in the drawers of her writing-table.  I did not touch the letters, but finding a box full of certain preservative sheaths against the fatal and dreaded plumpness, I emptied it, and I placed in it the following lines instead of the stolen goods: 

’Enfants de L’Amitie, ministres de la Peur, Je suis l’Amour, tremblez, respectez le voleur!  Et toi, femme de Dieu, ne crains pas d’etre mere; Car si to le deviens, Dieu seal sera le pere.  S’iL est dit cependant que tu veux le barren, Parle; je suis tout pret, je me ferai chatrer.’