“Write, and don’t talk. I can recall everything, and that is all that is wanted.” “‘Height about five feet.’ The chevalier,” said Quennebert, interrupting himself, “is four feet eleven inches three lines and a half, but I don’t need absolute exactness.” Angelique gazed at him in utter stupefaction. “Do you know him, then?” she asked. “I saw him this evening for the first time, but my eye is very accurate. “‘Height about five feet; hair black, eyes ditto, nose aquiline, mouth large, lips compressed, forehead high, face oval, complexion pale, no beard.’ “Now another line, and in capitals: “‘SPECIAL MARKS.’ “‘A small mole on the neck behind the right ear, a smaller mole on the left hand.’ “Have you written that? Now sign it with your full name.” “What use are you going to make of this paper?” “I should have told you before, if I had desired you to know. Any questions are quite useless. I don’t enjoin secrecy on you, however,” added the notary, as he folded the paper and put it into his doublet pocket. “You are quite free to tell anyone you like that you have written the description of the Chevalier de Moranges at the dictation of an unknown man, who got into your room you don’t know how, by the chimney or through the ceiling perhaps, but who was determined to leave it by a more convenient road. Is there not a secret staircase? Show me where it is. I don’t want to meet anyone on my way out.” Angelique pointed out a door to him hidden by a damask curtain, and Quennebert saluting her, opened it and disappeared, leaving Angelique convinced that she had seen the devil in person. Not until the next day did the sight of the displaced partition explain the apparition, but even then so great was her fright, so deep was the terror which the recollection of the mysterious man inspired, that despite the permission to tell what had happened she mentioned her adventure to no one, and did not even complain to her neighbour, Madame Rapally, of the inquisitiveness which had led the widow to spy on her actions. CHAPTER VI We left de Jars and Jeannin, roaring with laughter, in the tavern in the rue Saint Andre-des-Arts. “What!” said the treasurer, “do you really think that Angelique thought I was in earnest in my offer?—that she believes in all good faith I intend to marry her?” “You may take my word for it. If it were not so, do you imagine she would have been in such desperation? Would she have fainted at my threat to tell you that I had claims on her as well as you? To get married! Why, that is the goal of all such creatures, and there is not one of them who can understand why a man of honour should blush to give her his name. If you had only seen her terror, her tears! They would have either broken your heart or killed you with laughter.” “Well,” said Jeannin, “it is getting late. Are we going to wait for the chevalier?” “Let us call, for him.”