Look where I strike and you
will find the traces of a trap which used to be there, and has since
been fastened up. Find the means of removing the piece of wood which
closes the hole, and then, although we are each in our own room, we
shall be as good as together."

Rodolphe went to work at once. In five minutes a communication was
established between the two rooms.

"It is a very little hole," said he, "but there will always be room
enough to pass you my heart."

"Now," said Sidonia, "we will go to dinner. Set your table, and I will
pass you the dishes."

Rodolphe let down his turban by a string, and brought it back laden with
eatables, then the poet and the actress proceeded to dine--on their
respective floors. Rodolphe devoured the pie with his teeth, and Sidonia
with his eyes.

"Thanks to you, mademoiselle," he said, when their repast was finished,
"my stomach is satisfied. Can you not also satisfy the void of my heart,
which has been so long empty?"

"Poor fellow!" said Sidonia, and climbing on a piece of furniture, she
lifted up her hand to Rodolphe's lips, who gloved it with kisses.

"What a pity," he exclaimed, "you can't do as St. Denis, who had the
privilege of carrying his head in his hands!"

To the dinner succeeded a sentimental literary conversation. Rodolphe
spoke of "The Avenger," and Sidonia asked him to read it. Leaning over
the hole, he began declaiming his drama to the actress, who, to hear
better, had put her arm chair on the top of a chest of drawers. She
pronounced "The Avenger" a masterpiece, and having some influence at the
theater, promised Rodolphe to get his piece received.

But at the most interesting moment a step was heard in the entry, about
as light as that of the Commander's ghost in "Don Juan." It was Uncle
Monetti. Rodolphe had only just time to shut the trap.

"Here," said Monetti to his nephew, "this letter has been running after
you for a month."

"Uncle! Uncle!" cried Rodolphe, "I am rich at last! This letter informs
me that I have gained a prize of three hundred francs, given by an
academy of floral games. Quick! my coat and my things! Let me go to
gather my laurels. They await me at the Capitol!"

"And my chapter on ventilators?" said Monetti, coldly.

"I like that! Give me my things, I tell you; I can't go out so!"

"You shall go out when my 'Manual' is finished," quoth the uncle,
shutting up his nephew under lock and key.

Rodolphe, when left alone, did not h