lthough
surprised in the act, puts on a grand air, and waxes wrathful as at an
insult.

"Who was that man up there," I resumed, "with whom you were
corresponding?"

"A man!" she finally answered with her strong Turkish accent which I
will spare you. "I don't know what you mean--I don't know any men--I
have never seen any!"

"But he was at that window--there."

"Well, what does that prove?" she retorted. "Does that concern me? Can I
prevent people from coming to their windows?"

"No, but when they are there you might prevent yourself from making
signs to them; and especially from returning the kisses they send to
you."

"Signs, I? I made signs!" she exclaimed. "Ah! that is really too bad!
Who do you take me for then?"

"Why, I surprised you, and I stayed your hand when you had your fingers
raised to your lips."

"Well, can't I put my fingers to my lips now? What, am I not to have the
right to make a gesture, without accounting for it, without being
insulted? Did any one ever see a woman treated in such an odious
fashion? Well, tie me up then!"

You are acquainted with women's tactics, my dear Louis: they are always
the same in such cases. I put a stop to it all after letting her deny
the facts.

"Come, come," I said to her. "This is not the time for you to play the
part of a persecuted victim. For the last half hour I have been watching
you from behind those curtains. I saw everything--with my opera-glass,"
I added, showing her the glass in proof of my assertion.

Struck by this victorious demonstration she stood there in
consternation. For a moment I enjoyed the effect I had produced and then
continued:

"I saw the letter which he showed you, and the one which you have in
your pocket--I can still see a bit of it peeping out."

On hearing this she became very red; and with incredible swiftness drew
forth the incriminating missive, which she tore into a hundred pieces.

"All right," said I. "It would seem then that you had written something
very compromising to that soldier, whom you have never met and whom you
don't know."

"It was a letter for the modiste," she replied with assumed indignation.

"Yes, and you no doubt wanted him to deliver it," I retorted in an
ironical strain.

This last bitter dart went home and set her beside herself. She assumed
a superb attitude.

"I shall not give you any explanation," she said. "Believe whatever you
please. Do whatever you choose. As for myself, I know w