He took the letter to the light, lover-wise, and looked at it through a magnifying glass--and his pulses thrilled when it told him that she had originally written, "Votre sante m'est precieuse," and had scrabbled out the "m." "Your health is precious to me." That is what her heart had said.

Did lover ever have a dearer mistress?
He kissed the blot, and the thick French ink coming off on his lips was nectar.
And he began his letters with "My dear Princess;" then it was "Dearest Princess;" then "My Princess." Then she rallied him on the matter.

It came to "Mais enfin j'ai un petit nom comme tout le monde." In common with the rest of humanity she had a Christian name--and she was accustomed to be called by it by her frank and loyal friends.

"And they are so few." Paul heard the delicate little sigh and saw the delicate rise and fall of the white bosom.

And again he fed on purple ink.