and a handsome "consideration" remitted to the author.
Brunt was pleased, of course. Who could have helped being pleased? He was used to success, but not to this kind of success. His Louis XI. and his essays had given him an enviable reputation, but the public does not buy histories and essays by the bushel, and Brunt had never made such a brilliant dash at fame before.
And, after all, I do believe that what pleased John more than anything else was the fact that he had proved himself in the right. The woman's name had certainly not hindered the success of the book. He and I were both convinced that it had actually helped the sale. All the critics dwelt upon the remarkable power of the work, its "virile strength," its "incisive force," and they made haste to add that these qualities were tempered by "true feminine delicacy of feeling," and "nicety of perception." That was where John chuckled. He made a collection of all the reviews—a thing he had never taken
