We may, however, write letters and post them. We may--if we be great men--indite despatches and give them into the hands of trusty messengers, and a little twirl of Fortune's wheel will send all our penmanship to the winds.
While I was smoking a pipe and deciphering a long communication received from the gentleman who further entangled my affairs in England, a visitor was announced to me.
"Monsieur Alphonse Giraud."
"Why?" I wondered as I rose to receive this gentleman. "Why, Monsieur Alphonse Giraud?"
He was already in the doorway, and, I made no doubt, had conceived an ultra-British toilet for the occasion. For outwardly he was more English than myself. He came forward, holding out his hand, and I thought of Madame's words. Were we to become friends?
"Monsieur Howard," he said, "I h
