could write.

It was about half past ten, I think, and the morning was warm and
pleasant, when there gently sailed into the secretary's room, through
the open window, a wasp. I saw him come in, and I do not think I ever
beheld a more agreeable or benignant insect. His large eyes were filled
with the light of a fatherly graciousness. His semi-detached body seemed
to quiver with a helpful impulse, and his long hind legs hung down
beneath him as though they were outstretched to assist, befriend, or
succor. With wings waving blessings and a buzz of cheery greeting, he
sailed around the room, now dipping here, now there, and then circling
higher, tapping the ceiling with his genial back.

The moment the nun saw the wasp, a most decided thrill ran down the back
of her shawl. Then it pervaded her bonnet, and finally the whole of her.
As the beneficent insect sailed down near the table, she abruptly sprang
to her feet and pushed back her chair. I advanced to the grating, but
what could I do? Seeing me there, and doubtless with the desire
immediately to assure me of his kindly intentions, my friend Vespa made
a swoop directly at the front of the nun's bonnet.

With an undisguised ejaculation, and beating wildly at the insect with
her hands, the nun bounded to one side and turned her face full upon me.
I stood astounded. I forgot the wasp.

I totally lost sight of the fact that a young woman was in danger of
being badly stung. I thought of nothing but that she was a young woman,
and a most astonishingly pretty one besides.

The state of terror she was in opened wide her lovely blue eyes, half
crimsoned her clear white skin, and threw her rosy lips and sparkling
teeth into the most enchanting combinations.

"Make it go away!" she cried, throwing up one arm, and thereby pushing
back her gray bonnet, and exhibiting some of the gloss of her light
brown hair. "Can't you kill it?"

Most gladly would I have rushed in, and shed with my own hands the blood
of my friend Vespa, for the sake of this most charming young woman,
suddenly transformed from a barrow-bonneted principle. But I was
powerless. I could not break through the grating; the other door of the
secretary's room was locked.

"Don't strike at it," I said; "remain as motionless as you can, then
perhaps it will fly away. Striking at a wasp only enrages it."

"I can't stay quiet," she cried; "nobody could!" and she sprang behind
the table, making at the same time another