"Well, since you can read so well in my eyes, tell me what I
am thinking about, Montalais."

"In the first place, you don't think Monsieur Raoul; you
think My dear Raoul."

"Oh! ---- "

"Never blush for such a trifle as that! `My dear Raoul,' we
will say -- `You implore me to write to you at Paris, where
you are detained by your attendance on M. le Prince. As you
must be very dull there, to seek for amusement in the
remembrance of a provinciale ---- '"

Louise rose up suddenly. "No, Montalais," said she, with a
smile; "I don't think a word of that. Look, this is what I
think;" and she seized the pen boldly and traced, with a
firm hand, the following words: --

"I should have been very unhappy if your entreaties to
obtain a remembrance of me had been less warm. Everything
here reminds me of our early days, which so quickly passed
away, which so delightfully flew by, that no others will
ever replace the charm of them in my heart."

Montalais, who watched the flying pen, and read, the wrong
way upwards, as fast as her friend wrote, here interrupted
by clapping her hands. "Capital!" cried she; "there is
frankness -- there is heart -- there is style! Show these
Parisians, my dear, that Blois is the city for fine