(at the very last) sensual strain. It was a godsend to Jean Jacques to
have such an inspiration as Virginie Poucette had given him. He could
not in these days, somehow, get the fires of his soul lighted, as he was
wont to do in the old times, and he loved talking--how he loved talking
of great things! He was really going hard, galloping strong, when
Virginie interrupted him, first by an exclamation, then, as insistently
he repeated the words, "It is the epitome of the spirit, the shrine of--"

She put out a hand, interrupting him, and said: "Yes, yes, M'sieu'
Jean Jacques, that's as good as Moliere, I s'pose, or the Archbishop at
Quebec, but are you going to take it, the two thousand dollars? I made a
long speech, I know, but that was to tell you why I come with the money"
--she drew out a pocketbook--"with the order on my lawyer to hand the
cash over to you. As a woman I had to explain to you, there being lots
of ideas about what a woman should do and what she shouldn't do; but
there's nothing at all for you to explain, and Mere Langlois and a lot of
others would think I'm vain enough now without your compliments. I'm a
neighbour if you like, and I offer you a loan. Will you take it--that's
all?"

He held out his hand in silence and took the paper from her. Putting his
head a little on one side, he read it. At first he seemed hardly to get
the formal language clear in his mind; however, or maybe his mind was
still away in that abstraction into which he had whisked it when he began
his reply to her fine offer; but he read it out aloud, first quickly,
then very slowly, and he looked at the signature with a deeply meditative
air.

"Virginie Poucette--that's a good name," he remarked; "and also good for
two thousand dollars!" He paused to smile contentedly over his own joke.