Count Paul postponed his departure for Paris till after dinner, and not
till she went up to dress did Sylvia sit down to write her answer to the
Duchesse d'Eglemont.
For a long while she held her pen in her hand. How was she to address
Paul de Virieu's sister? Must she call her "Dear Madame"? Should she call
her "Dear Duchesse"? It was really an unimportant matter, but it appeared
very important to Sylvia Bailey. She was exceedingly anxious not to
commit any social solecism.
And then, while she was still hesitating, still sitting with the pen
poised in her hand, there came a knock at the door.
The maid handed her a note; it was from Count Paul, the first letter he
had ever written to her.
"Madame,"--so ran the note--"it occurs to me that you might like to
answer my sister in French, and so I venture to send you the sort of
letter that you might perhaps care to write. Each country has its own
usages in these matters--that must be my excuse for my apparent
impertinence."
And then there followed a prettily-turned little epistle which Sylvia
copied, feeling perhaps a deeper gratitude than a far greater service
would have won him from her.
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