But that title he would not endure. I have suspected him of possessing a skeleton key to my apartments. But, by Jove! you are fierce! You are like those Roman women who carry stilettos in their hair. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
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