Annie Morgan is the daughter of the richest merchant in
Chicago. Two years ago she came to Paris with her mother, and she has
had a wonderful house built on the Avenue du Bois-de-Boulogne trice. She
is highly educated and remarkably clever."

"You do not surprise me," I replied, "for I have reason to think that
this American lady is of a very serious turn of mind."

My brilliant colleague smiled as he shook my hand.

I walked home to the Rue Saint Jacques, where I have lived these last
thirty years in a modest lodging from which I can just see the tops
of the trees in the garden of the Luxembourg, and I sat down at my
writing-table.

For three days I sat there assiduously at work, before me a little
statuette representing the goddess Pasht with her cat's head. This
little monument bears an inscription imperfectly deciphered by Monsieur
Grebault I was at work on an adequate interpretation with comments. The
incident at the institute had left a less vivid impression on my mind
than might have been feared. I was not unduly disturbed. To tell the
truth, I had even forgotten it a little, and it required new occurrences
to revive its remembrance.

I had, therefore, leisure during these three days to bring my version
of the inscription and my notes to a satisfactory conclusion. I only
interrupted my archaeological work to read the newspapers, which were
loud in my praise.

Newspapers, absolutely ignorant of all learning, spoke in praise of
that "charming passage" which had concluded my discourse. "It was a
revelation," they said, "and M. Pigeonneau had prepared a most agreeable
surprise for us." I do not know why I refer to such trifles, because,
usually I am quite indifferent as to what they say about me in the
newspapers.

I had been already closeted in my study for three days when a ring at
the door-bell startled me. There was something imperious, fantastic, and
strange in the motion communicated to the bell-rope which disturbed me,
and it was with real anxiety that I went myself to open the door. And
whom did I find on the landing? The young American recently so absorbed
at the reading of my treatise. It was Miss Morgan in person.

"Monsieur Pigeonneau?"

"Yes."

"I recognised you at once, though you are not wearing your beautiful
coat with the embroidery of green palm-leaves. But, please don't put it
on for my sake. I like you much better in your dressing-gown."

I led her into my study. She looked curiously