When Julien and his uncle were alone, the latter assumed an even more comical air of solemnity. "Listen," he said, "I want you to do an errand for me. You must go to the hôtel d'Estrelle." "Excuse me, uncle, I shall not go there, for I should not be admitted." "I count on your not being admitted. You will carry a letter, wait for the answer in the antechamber, and bring it back to me." "Very well," said Julien, thinking that he could stop at the porter's lodge. "Where is the letter?" "Give me something to write with." "Here," said Julien, opening the drawer of his table. The horticulturist sat down and wrote rapidly; then he called Julien, who dissembled his impatience by removing his working jacket and putting on his coat, which he had dropped on a chair. "Will you have a seal?" he inquired. "Not yet. I want you to correct my note. I don't pride myself on my knowledge, and I may have made mistakes in spelling. Read it over for me, read it aloud, and then correct it, periods, commas and everything." Julien, feeling that a trap was being set for him, cast a rapid glance over the few lines which his uncle had written in a firm hand. His head swam, and he was very near tearing the paper in his indignation; but he thought that he was being subjected to a test by that crabbed, eccentric mortal. He restrained his wrath, met without flinching the ferociously searching gaze that was fixed upon him, and read in a firm voice the contents of the note: "Madame and friend: "We were so confused just now that we parted without making arrangements for to-morrow. I do not conceal from you that I shall regard your presence at my little party as a fresh ground of hope, and your refusal as a rupture or a regrettable delay of settlement. I have told you that I did not propose to be fooled, and you promised to be sincere. The night brings counsel. I am sure that to-morrow you will confirm me in the pleasant thoughts you allowed me to take away from your presence. "Your friend and servant, who is impatient to call himself your fiancé, "ANTOINE THIERRY." "Well," queried the old man when Julien had finished reading, "are there any mistakes?" "Yes, a great many, uncle," said Julien tranquilly, taking the pen. "Gently! I don't want her to see the corrections. Fix it neatly." "It is done. Now seal it and write the address." "Well, what do you say to that?" continued the uncle, writing Madame d'Estrelle's name on the envelope. "Nothing," replied Julien. "I don't believe in it." "Will you believe in it if you deliver the letter?" "Yes." "Then what will you say?" "Nothing. It's your affair." "Damnation! you are interested in it too!" "How so, please?" "The purchase of your house at Sèvres and its presentation to you depend on that letter." "Very good, uncle. In that case, many thanks," "You have an air----" "I have no air at all. Look at me." Antoine could not support Julien's piercing and fearless glance.