Accordingly, she went to the window, and made signs to the Frenchman that she had no writing materials at her command. This she expressed by first moving her fingers, as if engaged in a rapid act of penmanship; and then, shaking her head and lifting up her hands, expressed, in the most intelligible pantomime she was mistress of, that it was impossible for her to perform the operation—after which, she smiled, bowed, and withdrew. She had, however, scarcely settled down to crochet again, when the fishing-rod once more made its appearance at the window, and immediately afterwards a pencil and a sheet of paper were whisked into the room. “Well, I never!” cried Chutney, though by no means so displeased at the circumstance as she tried to persuade herself she was—“though I certainly must say he’s very persevering. But I’ll offend him—I’ll scold him well for daring to send me such things. No, I wont; it would look so unkind after all the trouble he’s taken. Oh, no! I’ll tell him I’m locked up here, and beg of him to desist, as it’s all through him that I’ve been punished.” So, seizing the paper and pencil, she hastily proceeded to indite a communication to the gentleman to that effect. In a few minutes after the fishing-rod had disappeared with her note, it returned, carrying a letter of intense condolence, and a cornichon of chocolate drops. Now, if one thing in the world could have made Miss Chutney think more highly of the Frenchman than another, it would have been the present he had chosen—for, of all the young ladies in the “first class,” she was the most renowned for her love of “sweeties.” So she immediately proceeded to devour the love-letter and the _bonbons_ at the same time, and both with all the ardour of a boarding-school miss. “Oh, how kind of him!” she exclaimed, as she crunched between her teeth the little white sugar-plums that ornamented the top of the drops—“and it’s really so thoughtful. Well, I _do_ think he’s one of the nicest-mannered Frenchmen I’ve ever known. He must be very good-tempered—and he writes such beautiful letters, and sympathises with me so warmly. Oh, how glad I am I paid such attention to my French last ‘half.’” Having finished the drops, she tore off the back of the letter last conveyed to her, and scribbled, with the paper on her knee, a brief expression of thanks for his commiseration and confectionery. This, of course, was followed by a third epistle—still more impassioned than the last—and with it a long stick of candied angelica, both of which were so extremely gratifying to the young lady, that she was puzzled in her mind to know which pleased her the most.