ing by saying he was born a day late and
never caught up. At the hotel where it was arranged he should locate was
a letter saying he should meet his fate on the Twenty-sixth of
September, two days later, between one and four in the afternoon, on the
Promenade du Faubourg. Being a married woman she could not just say what
hour she could get away. She would have with her a maid, and in her hand
would be one of Balzac's novels. They were to meet quite casually, just
as if they had always known each other--childhood acquaintances. They
would shake hands and then discuss the Balzacian novel: the maid would
be dismissed; and the next day Balzac would call at their villa to pay
his respects to her husband.

But how to kill time for two days! Balzac was in a fever of unrest. That
afternoon he strolled along the Faubourg looking at every passing face,
intent on finding a beautiful woman with a Balzac novel in her hand.

Balzac had not demanded anatomical specifications--he had just assumed
that "The Stranger" must be quite like Madame De Berney, only twenty
years younger, and twenty times more beautiful. La Dilecta was tall and
graceful: it was possible that Madame Hanska was scarcely as tall, or
that is to say, being more round and better developed, she would not
appear so tall.

The encounter was not scheduled for two days yet to come, but Balzac was
looking over the ground hoping to get the sun to his back. When lo! here
was a lady with a Balzac novel in her hand, and the book held at an
angle of sixty-two degrees.

Balzac gasped for breath as the woman came forward and held out her
hand. She wasn't handsome, but she certainly was pretty, even though her
nose was retrousse, which is French for pug. Her hair was raven-black,
her eyes sparkling, her lips red and her complexion fresh and bright.

But ye gods! she was short, damnably short, and in ten years she would
be fat, damnably fat!

Balzac's own personal appearance never troubled him, save on the matter
of height--or, rather, the lack of it. His one manifestation of vanity
was that he wore high heels.

Balzac had concealed from the stranger his lack of height: it made no
difference to Madame De Berney. Why should it to the Hanska--it was none
of her affair, anyway, Mon Dieu! And now he felt as Ananias did when he
kept back part of the price.

Madame was evidently disappointed. Balzac was very careless in attire,
his shirt open at the collar, and on the back of his