keen to obtain it, and who seemed to defy me to the contest. I
repeat, then, that the book is yours, and once more I beg you to
accept it; do not treat me as if I were an auctioneer, and let it
be the pledge between us of a longer and more intimate
acquaintance."

"Good," said Armand, holding out his hand and pressing mine; "I
accept, and I shall be grateful to you all my life."

I was very anxious to question Armand on the subject of
Marguerite, for the inscription in the book, the young man's
hurried journey, his desire to possess the volume, piqued my
curiosity; but I feared if I questioned my visitor that I might
seem to have refused his money only in order to have the right to
pry into his affairs.

It was as if he guessed my desire, for he said to me:

"Have you read the volume?"

"All through."

"What did you think of the two lines that I wrote in it?"

"I realized at once that the woman to whom you had given the
volume must have been quite outside the ordinary category, for I
could not take those two lines as a mere empty compliment."

"You were right. That woman was an angel. See, read this letter."
And he handed to me a paper which seemed to have been many times