Mme. Claretie received us so cordially that we were at once glad we came. Then M. Claretie came in, very refined and very simple. He was accompanied by M. Prudhon, an impressive person, who did not utter a word. He was presented to me as the director’s right-hand man. I wondered how it was possible to carry on business without saying anything. From noon until three o’clock, as a matter of fact, I did not hear a single word escape his lips. At the table I asked Mme. Claretie, in an undertone in English: “Is he dumb?” She began to laugh in her friendly and reassuring way and replied: “Oh, no, but he never has much to say.” Then, thinking the ice broken, I looked at M. Prudhon smiling. He did not smile at all, and I said to him vivaciously: “If you continue to contradict me in that way I won’t say another word to you.” M. Prudhon, still serious, bowed and had nothing to say. This quip, which did not even make him smile, was not an original one with me, I make haste to say. I had heard it said by a young girl who was my private secretary, and who wanted to stir up a gentleman who was unpleasantly silent. M. Prudhon reminded me of that man, and I wanted to see what effect the remark would have on him. It had no effect. While I am speaking of this secretary I ought to devote a few lines to her, although I have no reason to remember her kindly. She was a pretty, young girl, always exquisitely gowned, although her financial resources were slight. To my extreme displeasure I found out later the explanation of the enigma. She was my secretary, and I often sent her to place orders among all my tradespeople. At the same time that she gave orders for things that I wanted she ordered them for herself, taking care not to call for two articles of the same make. I never had gloves or veils or handkerchiefs. She always had taken the last of them. She always thought that she had ordered more of them, and would sally forth to order more. One day I sent her to Tiffany’s, the jewellers. She added only a mere little trinket to my order, a locket with her monogram set in diamonds. I received the bill in due course, but she had left me. Previously she had gone with me to Nice, and had remained there while I was on the road in the United States. When I returned I learned that during my absence she had lived at the hotel where I left her and that her bill, charged to my account, amounted to nearly 6,000 francs. Presently other invoices arrived from dyers and cleaners, glove makers, shoemakers, costumiers, modistes, furriers, linendrapers and finally the bill from Tiffany’s.