“I was forbidden the house; I begged and prayed in vain; nothing could move the fair devotee, and I became ill from grief.  Well, last week, her cousin, Madame d’Arville, who is your cousin also, sent me word that she should like to see me, and when I called, she told me on what conditions I might obtain my pardon, and here they are.  I must bring her a relic, a real, authentic relic of some virgin and martyr, certified to be such by our Holy Father, the Pope, and I am going mad from embarrassment and anxiety.

“I will go to Rome, if needful, but I cannot call on the Pope unexpectedly, to tell him my stupid misadventure; and, besides, I doubt whether they allow private individuals to have relics.  Could not you give me an introduction to some cardinal, or even to some French prelate who possesses some remains of a female saint?  Or, perhaps, you may have the precious object she wants in your collection?

“Help me out of my difficulty, my dear Abbe, and I promise you that I will be converted ten years sooner than I otherwise should be!

“Madame d’Arville, who takes the matter seriously, said to me the other day: 

“‘Poor Gilberte will never marry.’

“My dear old schoolmate, will you allow your cousin to die the victim of a stupid piece of subterfuge on my part?  Pray prevent her from being virgin eleven thousand and one.

“Pardon me, I am unworthy, but I embrace you, and love you with all my heart.

“Your old friend,
               “Henri fontal.”