But that evening she was so afraid of a scene that she affected complete indifference, skimming through the letter with a sulky expression and flinging it aside as soon as read.
Fontan had begun beating a tattoo on a windowpane; the thought of going to bed so early bored him, and yet he did not know how to employ his evening.

He turned briskly round: "Suppose we answer that young vagabond at once," he said.
It was the custom for him to write the letters in reply.

He was wont to vie with the other in point of style.

Then, too, he used to be delighted when Nana, grown enthusiastic after the letter had been read over aloud, would kiss him with the announcement that nobody but he could "say things like that." Thus their latent affections would be stirred, and they would end with mutual adoration.
"As you will," she replied.

"I'll make tea, and we'll go to bed after." Thereupon Fontan installed himself at the table on which pen, ink and paper were at the same time grandly displayed.