"Tell me [...] if, yeasterday afternoon, from the table in the hall, you took, you know, my letter."

[...]

"Yes - I took it."

[...]

"What did you take it for?"

"To see what you said about me."

"You opened the letter?"

"I opened it."

[...]

"And you found nothing!" - I let my elation out.

He gave me the most mournful, thoughtful little headshake. "Nothing."

"Nothing, nothing!" I almost shouted in my joy.

"Nothing, nothing," he sadly repeated.

I kissed his forehead; it was drenched. "So what have you done with it?"

"I've burnt it."