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In a few minutes I was bowing with a moderate degree of respect before Mlle. de Chantverdun, and making her such adroit excuses that she was enchanted with me. Happiness had restored my presence of mind my deferential manner and apologies delighted the poor old-young lady.
She read your letter, and wished for once in her life to enjoy uttering a shriek of alarm and faint at the sight of a love letter; so come monsieur," said Mad. de Lorgeville, smilingly leading me towards the house, "come and make your excuses to Mlle. de Chantverdun, who has recovered her senses and sent me to her rendezvous."
"Mlle. de Chateaudun is not here ... excuse this silly laughter ... the gardener gave your note to one of my guests ... a young lady of sixty-five summers.... Who by the strangest coincidence is named Mlle. de Chantverdun.... Now you can account for my amusement ... Mlle. de Chantverdun is a canoness.
I made her believe that this mistake was entirely owing to a similarity of names, and that the age of Mile. de Chantverdun was an additional point of resemblance. This distinction was difficult to manage in its exquisite delicacy; my skilfulness won the approbation of Mad. de Lorgeville. We passed a charming afternoon.
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