My name is Garnier, I am the only son of M. Garnier, wine merchant in the Rue de Seine.


Well, M. Garnier, I will never again call on Mdlle. Samson. Let us be friends.


Until death. Farewell, sir.


Adieu, be happy!


I would have acted as you have done, but I would not have acted like Garnier.


Madam, you must be kind enough to divide the questions, for the cabalistic oracle never answers two questions at the same time. Well, then, prepare the questions yourself.


Your highness will excuse me, but every word must be written with your own hand. Recollect, madam, that you will address yourself to a superior intelligence knowing all your secrets


Sir, I wish to be certain that no one shall ever know what I have just written.


Your highness may rely on my honour.


I only require three hours to complete my task,


and I wish your highness to feel no anxiety. If you have any other engagement you can leave me here alone, provided I am not disturbed by anybody. When it is completed, I will put it all in a sealed envelope; I only want your highness to tell me to whom I must deliver the parcel.


Either to me or to Madame de Polignac, if you know her.


Yes, madam, I have the honour to know her.


Short and sweet,


Your highness may be certain that I shall never have any more important business than to attend to your wishes.


Very well; I do not intend to go out, and we can work.


Have you any objection to seeing one of your friends who is as delicate as discreet? See. M. Casanova has taught me the cabalistic science. Well, we must convince him. What shall I ask?


Anything your highness chooses.


Tell me why this pomatum has no longer any effect Ah, sir! what an answer!


Perhaps it is not the right one; but that will sometimes happen, madam.


Not the right one, sir? It is divine! Here it is: That pomatum has no effect upon the skin of a woman who has been a mother.


I do not see anything extraordinary in that answer, madam.


Very likely, sir, but it is because you do not know that the pomatum in question was given to me five years ago by the Abbé de Brosses; it cured me at that time, but it was ten months before the birth of the Duke de Montpensier. I would give anything in the world to be thoroughly acquainted with that sublime cabalistic science.


What! is it the pomatum the history of which I know?


Precisely.


It is astonishing.


I wish to ask one more question concerning a woman the name of whom I would rather not give.


Say the woman whom I have in my thoughts.


What disease is that woman suffering from?


She wants to deceive her husband.


The duchess, pretty as you see her now, had her face so fearfully covered with pimples that the duke, thoroughly disgusted, had not the courage to come near her to enjoy his rights as a husband, and the poor princess was pining with useless longing to become a mother. The Abbé de Brosses cured her with that pomatum, and her beautiful face having entirely recovered it original bloom she made her appearance at the Theatre Francais, in the queen’s box. The Duke de Chartres, not knowing that his wife had gone to the theatre, where she went but very seldom, was in the king’s box. He did not recognize the duchess, but thinking her very handsome he enquired who she was, and when he was told he would not believe it; he left the royal box, went to his wife, complimented her, and announced his visit for the very same night. The result of that visit was, nine months afterwards, the birth of the Duke of Montpensier, who is now five years old and enjoys excellent health. During the whole of her pregnancy the duchess kept her face smooth and blooming, but immediately after her delivery the pimples reappeared, and the pomatum remained without any effect. The duchess begs your acceptance of this portrait, and, in case you would like to have it set she wishes you to make use of this for that purpose.


How is that? everyone in Paris believes her to be suffering from a cancer, and she has consultation upon consultation. Yet I have faith in the oracle.


Has he accepted your wages?


No; he seemed surprised; you are aware that he ought to know the truth. If you wish to earn that sum. I will tell him all about it.


I am very sorry, for I am longing to see a king.


That’s the work of a beginner.


But, my small specimen of humanity, you would require to jump on a chair to reach my throat. I will cut your ears.


Sacre bleu, monsieur!


No vulgar passion, my dear sir; follow me; you shall soon be satisfied.


I am the Chevalier de Talvis. You have insulted an honest woman who is under my protection; unsheath!


You lie, you rascally mannikin! acknowledge it, or I thrust my sword through your miserable body.


You will not do it, for I am wounded; but I insist upon having my revenge, and we will leave the decision of this to competent judges.


Miserable wrangler, wretched fighter, if you are not satisfied, I will cut off your ears!


You will go this evening, with a friend of mine, and you will catch the coach.


Ditemi il vero, si puo air meglio’?


Which of your operas, do you like best?


'Attilio Regolo; ma questo non vuol gia dire che sia il megliore'.


All your works have been translated in Paris into French prose, but the publisher was ruined, for it is not possible to read them, and it proves the elevation and the power of your poetry.


Several years ago, another foolish publisher ruined himself by a translation into French prose of the splendid poetry of Ariosto. I laugh at those who maintain that poetry can be translated into prose.


I am of your opinion.


And you are right. The French, entertain the very strange belief that it is possible to adapt poetry to music already composed. You might just as well say to a sculptor, ‘Here is a piece of marble, make a Venus, and let her expression be shewn before the features are chiselled.’


One can ignore pride, for dignity wears the same garb. Avarice is fearful, it is true; but one might be mistaken about it, because it is often very like economy. As for anger, it is a murderous disease in its excess, but murder is punishable with death. Gluttony is sometimes nothing but epicurism, and religion does not forbid that sin; for in good company it is held a valuable quality; besides, it blends itself with appetite, and so much the worse for those who die of indigestion. Envy is a low passion which no one ever avows; to punish it in any other way than by its own corroding venom, I would have to torture everybody at Court; and weariness is the punishment of sloth. But lust is a different thing altogether; my chaste soul could not forgive such a sin, and I declare open war against it. My subjects are at liberty to think women handsome as much as they please; women may do all in their power to appear beautiful; people may entertain each other as they like, because I cannot forbid conversation; but they shall not gratify desires on which the preservation of the human race depends, unless it is in the holy state of legal marriage. Therefore, all the miserable creatures who live by the barter of their caresses and of the charms given to them by nature shall be sent to Temeswar. I am aware that in Rome people are very indulgent on that point, and that, in order to prevent another greater crime (which is not prevented), every cardinal has one or more mistresses, but in Rome the climate requires certain concessions which are not necessary here, where the bottle and the pipe replace all pleasures. (She might have added, and the table, for the Austrians are known to be terrible eaters.) I will have no indulgence either for domestic disorders, for the moment I hear that a wife is unfaithful to her husband, I will have her locked up, in spite of all, in spite of the generally received opinion that the husband is the real judge and master of his wife; that privilege cannot be granted in my kingdom where husbands are by far too indifferent on that subject. Fanatic husbands may complain as much as they please that I dishonour them by punishing their wives; they are dishonoured already by the fact of the woman’s infidelity.


But, madam, dishonour rises in reality only from the fact of infidelity being made public; besides, you might be deceived, although you are empress. I know that, but that is no business of yours, and I do not grant you the right of contradicting me.


And why, if you please?


Because, on your left, there is a woman who can see you.


Sir, may I ask why you are laughing?


It makes me laugh to see that you do not recognize me.


I have some idea that I have seen you somewhere, but I could not say where or when I had that honour.


Nine years ago, by the orders of the Prince de Lobkowitz, I escorted you to the Gate of Rimini.


You are Baron Vais.


Precisely.


You must be something,


and you cannot be less than baron. You must confess yourself to be at least that, if you wish to be received anywhere in Vienna.


Well, I will be a baron, since it is of no importance.


If you are fond of cards, come in the evening.


What do you see, on the countenance of that prince?


Self-conceit and suicide.


I despise men who purchase nobility.


Your majesty is right, but what are we to think of those who sell it?


No, no!


Sir, I am starving.


Eh! what are you complaining of? I wish I was in your place, you rogue!


I promise to give it to you, but I never leave one pleasure for another, we shall see one another again.


That is enough. Will you do me the honour to introduce me to these ladies?


Very willingly, but not in the street.


One can attend it, without being presented, and that is why we intend to go, for I am not known to anybody here.


Willingly, my lord, the whole of the bank upon this card.


Very well. Sir, if you had lost, how would you have managed to pay me?


My lord, that is my business.


You are more lucky than wise.


Most likely, my lord; but that is my business.


I will give you my bill.


Nothing of the sort.


Sir, having made a useless search for my portrait after you left, and not being in the habit of receiving thieves in my apartment, I feel satisfied that it must be in your possession. I request you to deliver it to the person who will hand you this letter.


Love has most likely made a thief of you but I congratulate you, for your passion cannot be a very ardent one.


How can you judge of that?


From the readiness with which you give up this portrait.


I would not have given it up so easily to anybody else.


I thank you; and as a compensation I beg you to accept my friendship.


I place it in my estimation infinitely above the portrait, and even above the original. May I ask you to forward my answer?


I promise you to send it. Here is some paper, write your letter; you need not seal it.


In getting rid of the portrait, Casanova experiences a satisfaction by far superior to that which he felt when, owing to a stupid fancy, he was foolish enough to put it in his pocket.


To punish you for not knowing me again after having saved my life. I should like it, if I had a safe gondola.


If you mean to be cruel, pray say so candidly.


I must ask you to tell me what sort of a woman you take me for?


For a very charming one, whether a princess or a maid of low degree. Therefore, I hope that you will give me, this very day, some marks of your kindness, or I must part with you immediately after dinner.


You will do as you please; but I trust that after dinner you will have changed your opinion and your language, for your way of speaking is not pleasant. It seems to me that, before venturing upon such an explanation, it is necessary to know one another. Do you not think so?


Yes, I do; but I am afraid of being deceived.


How very strange! And that fear makes you begin by what ought to be the end?


I only beg to-day for one encouraging word. Give it to me and I will at once be modest, obedient and discreet.


Pray calm yourself.


You shall hear from me to-morrow.


Where, and how?


Never mind that. My name is P---- C----. My father is rich, and enjoys great consideration at the exchange; but we are not on friendly terms at present. I reside in St. Mark’s Square. The lady you saw with me was a Mdlle. O----; she is the wife of the broker C----, and her sister married the patrician P---- M----. But Madame C---- is at variance with her husband on my account, as she is the cause of my quarrel with my father. I wear this uniform in virtue of a captaincy in the Austrian service, but I have never served in reality. I have the contract for the supply of oxen to the City of Venice, and I get the cattle from Styria and Hungary. This contract gives me a net profit of ten thousand florins a year; but an unforeseen embarrassment, which I must remedy; a fraudulent bankruptcy, and some extraordinary expenditure, place me for the present in monetary difficulties. Four years ago I heard a great deal about you, and wished very much to make your acquaintance; I firmly believe that it was through the interference of Heaven that we became acquainted the day before yesterday. I have no hesitation in claiming from you an important service which will unite us by the ties of the warmest friendship. Come to my assistance without running any risk yourself; back these three bills of exchange. You need not be afraid of having to pay them, for I will leave in your hands these three other bills which fall due before the first. Besides, I will give you a mortgage upon the proceeds of my contract during the whole year, so that, should I fail to take up these bills, you could seize my cattle in Trieste, which is the only road through which they can come.


Sir having recognised in you a man of great intelligence, I felt certain that you would at once see the advantages of my offer, and that you would not raise any objection.


You must see your mistake by this time, and most likely you will take me for a fool now you see that I should believe myself a dupe if I accepted.


If you make up your mind to sign the three bills of exchange. I will take you as a partner in my contract.


She would be a good match for you, for she will have a dowry of ten thousand ducats. If you will call on me to-morrow, we will take coffee with my mother and sister.


I do not blush, in begging from you one sequin which will keep us alive for five or six days. I can neither support her in those feelings, nor reward her for them.


Then you have not any lover?


What? a lover! Where could I find a man courageous enough to be my lover in such a house as this? Am I a woman to sell myself to the first comer for the sum of thirty sous? There is not a man in Venice who would think me worth more than that, seeing me in such a place as this. Besides, I was not born for prostitution.


But does your sister know that you intend me to join you?


She considers it a great pleasure.


Does your mother know it?


No; but when she knows it she will not be angry, for she has a great esteem for you.


In that case I will try to find a private box.


Very well; wait for us at such a place.


Speak to me, you only look at me without uttering a single word. You have sacrificed yourself for me, because my brother would have taken you with him to his lady-love, who, to judge from what he says, must be as beautiful as an angel.


I have seen that lady.


I suppose she is very witty.


She may be so; but I have no opportunity of knowing, for I have never visited her, and I do not intend ever to call upon her. Do not therefore imagine, beautiful C---- C----, that I have made the slightest sacrifice for your sake.


I was afraid you had, because as you did not speak I thought you were sad.


If I do not speak to you it is because I am too deeply moved by your angelic confidence in me.


I am very glad it is so; but how could I not trust you? I feel much more free, much more confident with you than with my brother himself. My mother says it is impossible to be mistaken, and that you are certainly an honest man. Besides, you are not married; that is the first thing I asked my brother. Do you recollect telling me that you envied the fate of the man who would have me for his wife? Well, at that very moment I was thinking that your wife would be the happiest woman in Venice.


With such conformity of feelings, we would, lovely C----, be perfectly happy, if we could be united for ever. But I am old enough to be your father.


You my father? You are joking! Do you know that I am fourteen?


Do you know that I am twenty-eight?


Well, where can you see a man of your age having a daughter of mine? If my father were like you, he would certainly never frighten me; I could not keep anything from him.


What a kiss! Come, come, a good lover’s kiss!


Do not press him; I am not so happy as to please him.


What! what! beautiful C----, you do not condescend to ascribe my reserve to the feeling which you have inspired me with? You suppose that you do not please me? If a kiss is all that is needed to prove the contrary to you, oh! receive it now with all the sentiment that is burning in my heart!


You have convinced me, but, because you have undeceived me, you must not punish me.


I adore your sister, but do you think that your father will be willing to give her to me?


I think not; but he is old. In the mean time, love one another. My mother has given her permission to go to the opera this evening with us.


Very well, my dear friend, we must go.


I find myself under the necessity of claiming a slight service at your hands.


Dispose of me.


There is some excellent Cyprus wine to be sold very cheap, and I can obtain a cask of it against my bill at six months. I am certain of selling it again immediately with a good profit; but the merchant requires a guarantee, and he is disposed to accept yours, if you will give it. Will you be kind enough to endorse my note of hand?


With pleasure.


No, let us rather go to the Zuecca Garden.


With all my heart.


Whoever loses the race,


shall have to do whatever the winner asks.


Agreed!


What are you trembling for?


Only for joy at having found the ring; you had concealed it so well! But you owe me a revenge, and this time you shall not beat me.


We shall see.


Then you did not hurt yourself?


No, for I fell purposely.


Purposely? Oh, to deceive me! I would never have believed you capable of that. It is not fair to win by fraud; therefore I have not lost the race.


Oh! yes, you have, for I reached the goal before you.


Trick for trick; confess that you tried to deceive me at the start.


But that is fair, and your trick is a very different thing.


Yet it has given me the victory, and


Vincasi per fortund o per ingano, Il vincer sempre fu laudabil cosa


I have often heard those words from my brother, but never from my father. Well, never mind, I have lost. Give your judgment now, I will obey.


Wait a little. Let me see. Ah! my sentence is that you shall exchange your garters for mine.


Exchange our garters! But you have seen mine, they are ugly and worth nothing.


Never mind. Twice every day I shall think of the person I love, and as nearly as possible at the same hours you will have to think of me.


It is a very pretty idea, and I like it. Now I forgive you for having deceived me. Here are my ugly garters! Ah! my dear deceiver, how beautiful yours are! What a handsome present! How they will please my mother! They must be a present which you have just received, for they are quite new.


No, they have not been given to me. I bought them for you, and I have been racking my brain to find how I could make you accept them. Love suggested to me the idea of making them the prize of the race. You may now imagine my sorrow when I saw that you would win. Vexation inspired me with a deceitful stratagem which arose from a feeling you had caused yourself, and which turned entirely to your honour, for you must admit that you would have shewn a very hard heart if you had not come to my assistance.


And I feel certain that you would not have had recourse to that stratagem, if you could have guessed how deeply it would pain me.


Do you then feel much interest in me?


I would do anything in the world to convince you of it. I like my pretty garters exceedingly; I will never have another pair, and I promise you that my brother shall not steal them from me.


Can you suppose him capable of such an action?


Oh! certainly, especially if the fastenings are in gold.


Yes, they are in gold; but let him believe that they are in gilt brass.


Will you teach me how to fasten my beautiful garters?


Of course I will.


Even if I had to give up, the pleasure of seeing your angelic sister, I have taken the firm resolution of not keeping company with you; but I candidly warn you that I will do everything in my power to prevent her from going out with you, and from being the victim of some infamous bargain in your hands.


In the hope of securing that happiness, madam. I shall get a friend to speak to your husband as soon as I shall have secured a position giving me sufficient means to keep her comfortably, and to assure her happiness.


I will give you my key, and you can bring back my sister here as soon as you have supper together wherever you like.


Did you see, what my brother did to Madame C---- when she placed herself astride on his knees? I only saw it in the looking-glass, but I could guess what it was.


Were you not afraid of my treating you in the same manner?


No, I can assure you. How could I possibly fear such a thing, knowing how much you love me? You would have humiliated me so deeply that I should no longer have loved you. We will wait until we are married, will we not, dear? You cannot realize the extent of the joy I felt when I heard you speak to my mother as you did! We will love each other for ever. But will you explain to me, dearest, the meaning of the words embroidered upon my garters?


Is there any motto upon them? I was not aware of it.


Oh, yes! it is in French; pray read it.


En voyant chaque jour le bijou de ma belle,


Vous lui direz qu’Amour veut qu’il lui soit fidele.


Now. I shall not dare to shew my garters to anybody, and I am very sorry for it. Tell me what you are thinking of?


I am thinking that those lucky garters have a privilege which perhaps I shall never enjoy. How I wish myself in their place: I may die of that wish, and die miserable.


No, dearest, for I am in the same position as you, and I am certain to live. Besides, we can hasten our marriage. As far as I am concerned, I am ready to become your wife to-morrow if you wish it. We are both free, and my father cannot refuse his consent.


You are right, for he would be bound to consent for the sake of his honour. But I wish to give him a mark of my respect by asking for your hand, and after that everything will soon be ready. It might be in a week or ten days.


So soon? You will see that my father will say that I am too young.


Perhaps he is right.


No; I am young, but not too young, and I am certain that I can be your wife.


Oh, my best beloved! do you feel certain of my love? Do you think me capable of deceiving you? Are you sure that you will never repent being my wife?


More than certain, darling; for you could not wish to make me unhappy.


Well, then, let our marriage take place now. Let God alone receive our mutual pledges; we cannot have a better witness, for He knows the purity of our intentions. Let us mutually engage our faith, let us unite our destinies and be happy. We will afterwards legalize our tender love with your father’s consent and with the ceremonies of the Church; in the mean time be mine, entirely mine.


Dispose of me, dearest. I promise to God, I promise to you that, from this very moment and for ever, I will be your faithful wife; I will say the same to my father, to the priest who will bless our union--in fact, to everybody.


I take the same oath towards you, darling, and I can assure you that we are now truly married. Come to my arms! Oh, dearest, complete my felicity!


Oh, dear! am I indeed so near happiness!


Is there by any chance a law to prevent the husband from undressing himself?


No, darling angel, no; and even if there were such a barbarous law, I would not submit to it.


Oh! dearest, what a difference between you and my pillow!


Your pillow, darling? You are laughing; what do you mean?


Oh! it is nothing but a childish fancy; I am afraid you will be angry.


Angry! How could I be angry with you, my love, in the happiest moment of my life?


Well, for several days past, I could not go to sleep without holding my pillow in my arms; I caressed it, I called it my dear husband; I fancied it was you, and when a delightful enjoyment had left me without movement, I would go to sleep, and in the morning find my pillow still between my arms.


Have you never been to the opera? Never, because it is too dear for people in our position. My daughter has such a wish to go, that, God forgive me for saying it! she would give herself, I truly believe, to the man who would take her there once.


That would be paying very dear for it. Dearest, we could make her happy at less cost, for that hurts very much.


I was thinking of it, my love. Here is the key of the box, you can make them a present of it.


Here is the key of a box at the St. Moses Theatre, it costs two sequins; go instead of us, and tell your daughter to keep her rose-bud for something better.


To enable you to amuse yourself, my good woman; take these two sequins. Let your daughter enjoy herself well.


She is going this minute with her lover. He is waiting for her; but I will not let her go alone with him, for he is not to be trusted; I am going with them.


That is right, my good woman; but when you come back this evening, let the gondola wait for us; it will take us to Venice.


What! Do you mean to remain here until we return?


Yes, for this is our wedding-day.


To-day? God bless you!


I am certain of it, for I never lose sight of thee. Go and get some water in this basin, and bring it here. This charming bride must be in need of it.


I am certain that you have slept with my sister, and I am very glad of it. She does not confess as much, but her confession is not necessary. I will bring her to you to-day.


You will oblige me, for I adore her, and I will get a friend of mine to ask her in marriage from your father in such a manner that he will not be able to refuse.


I wish it may be so, but I doubt it. In the mean time, I find myself compelled to beg another service from your kindness. I can obtain, against a note of hand payable in six months, a ring of the value of two hundred sequins, and I am certain to sell it again this very day for the same amount. That sum is very necessary to me just now, but the jeweller, who knows you, will not let me have it without your security. Will you oblige me in this instance? I know that you lost a great deal last night; if you want some money I will give you one hundred sequins, which you will return when the note of hand falls due.


I am ready,


to sign the note of hand, but you are wrong in abusing my love for your sister in such a manner.


I entreat you, darling, to refuse all the demands of my brother in future; he is, unfortunately, in such difficulties that he would at the end drag you down to the abyss into which he must fall Oh, my best beloved! do all in your power to render me pregnant; for in that case my father could no longer refuse his consent to my marriage, under the pretext of my being too young.


I was certain, that you were here, and here I am in spite of all my mother could say. You must be starving. My brother has not put in an appearance through the whole of this day. Let us go quickly to our garden, for I am very hungry too, and love will console us for all we have suffered today.


The question at issue,


is how to give me a respectable position, and to guarantee a dowry of ten thousand ducats which the young lady would bring me.


You have nothing to fear, my father has arrived in excellent health, and everyone in the house is fast asleep.


Except Love,


which is now inviting us to enjoy ourselves. Love will protect us, dearest, and to-morrow your father will receive a letter from my worthy protector.


My father thinks of me now as if I were nothing but a child; but his eyes are going to be opened respecting me; he will examine my conduct, and God knows what will happen! Now, we are happy, even more than we were during our visits to Zuecca, for we can see each other every night without restraint. But what will my father do when he hears that I have a lover?


What can he do? If he refuses me your hand, I will carry you off, and the patriarch would certainly marry us. We shall be one another’s for life


It is my most ardent wish, and to realize it I am ready to do anything; but, dearest, I know my father.


Are you the person to whom it is addressed?


Before I can write all I have to say, I must be sure of my messenger. I am boarding in a convent, and am very well treated, and I enjoy excellent health in spite of the anxiety of my mind. The superior has been instructed to forbid me all visitors and correspondence. I am, however, already certain of being able to write to you, notwithstanding these very strict orders. I entertain no doubt of your good faith, my beloved husband, and I feel sure that you will never doubt a heart which is wholly yours. Trust to me for the execution of whatever you may wish me to do, for I am yours and only yours. Answer only a few words until we are quite certain of our messenger. Muran, June 12th.


Ah, sir! if I could not read, it would be a great misfortune for me. There are seven women appointed for the service of the nuns of Muran. One of us comes in turn to Venice once a week; I come every Wednesday, and this day week I shall be able to bring you an answer to the letter which, if you like, you can write now.


Then you can take charge of the letters entrusted to you by the nuns?


That is not supposed to be one of our duties but the faithful delivery of letters being the most important of the commissions committed to our care, we should not be trusted if we could not read the address of the letters placed in our hands. The nuns wanted to be sure that we shall not give to Peter the letter addressed to Paul. The good mothers are always afraid of our being guilty of such blunders. Therefore I shall be here again, without fail, this day week at the same hour, but please to order your servant to wake you in case you should be asleep, for our time is measured as if it were gold. Above all, rely entirely upon my discretion as long as you employ me; for if I did not know how to keep a silent tongue in my head I should lose my bread, and then what would become of me--a widow with four children, a boy eight years old, and three pretty girls, the eldest of whom is only sixteen? You can see them when you come to Muran. I live near the church, on the garden side, and I am always at home when I am not engaged in the service of the nuns, who are always sending me on one commission or another. The young lady--I do not know her name yet, for she has only been one week with us--gave me this letter, but so cleverly! Oh! she must be as witty as she is pretty, for three nuns who were there were completely bamboozled. She gave it to me with this other letter for myself, which I likewise leave in your hands. Poor child! she tells me to be discreet! She need not be afraid. Write to her, I entreat you, sir, that she can trust me, and answer boldly. I would not tell you to act in the same manner with all the other messengers of the convent, although I believe them to be honest--and God forbid I should speak ill of my fellow-creature--but they are all ignorant, you see; and it is certain that they babble, at least, with their confessors, if with nobody else. As for me, thank God! I know very well that I need not confess anything but my sins, and surely to carry a letter from a Christian woman to her brother in Christ is not a sin. Besides, my confessor is a good old monk, quite deaf, I believe, for the worthy man never answers me; but that is his business, not mine!


Burn all my letters, darling, and recollect that you must go to confession often, but without implicating our love. Share with me all your sorrows, which interest me even more than your joys.


God Himself, my good woman, prompts me to have confidence in you rather than in anybody else. Take this letter to Venice, and should the person to whom it is addressed not be in the city, bring it back to me. You must deliver it to that person himself, and if you find him you will most likely have an answer, which you must give me, but only when you are certain that nobody can see you.


I am certain that you are in no hurry.


No, but I am starving.


I asked Casanova’s opinion, and as I find it opposed to the proposal made by De la Haye, I do not wish to hear any more about it.


My dear friend, why did you dissuade M. Dandolo from doing what I had insinuated to him?


What had you insinuated to him?


You know well enough.


If I knew it, I would not ask you


M. Dandolo himself told me that you had advised him against it.


Advised against, that may be, but certainly not dissuaded, for if he had been persuaded in his own mind he would not have asked my advice.


As you please; but may I enquire your reasons?


Tell me first what your proposal was.


Has he not told you?


Perhaps he has; but if you wish to know my reasons, I must hear the whole affair from your own lips, because M. Dandolo spoke to me under a promise of secrecy.


Of what good is all this reserve?


Everyone has his own principles and his own way of thinking: I have a sufficiently good opinion of you to believe that you would act exactly as I do, for I have heard you say that in all secret matters one ought to guard against surprise.


I am incapable of taking such an advantage of a friend; but as a general rule your maxim is a right one; I like prudence. I will tell you the whole affair. You are aware that Madame Tripolo has been left a widow, and that M. Dandolo is courting her assiduously, after having done the same for fourteen years during the life of the husband. The lady, who is still young, beautiful and lovely, and also is very respectable, wishes to become his wife. It is to me that she has confided her wishes, and as I saw nothing that was not praiseworthy, either in a temporal or in a spiritual point of view, in that union, for after all we are all men, I took the affair in hand with real pleasure. I fancied even that M. Dandolo felt some inclination for that marriage when he told me that he would give me his decision this morning. I am not astonished at his having asked your advice in such an important affair, for a prudent man is right in asking the opinion of a wise friend before taking a decisive step; but I must tell you candidly that I am astonished at your disapproval of such a marriage. Pray excuse me if, in order to improve by the information, I ask why your opinion is exactly the reverse of mine.


That being my opinion,


you must admit that as a true friend I was right in advising him against your proposal. Do you recollect having told me that you never married for the very same reason? Do you recollect your strong arguments in favour of celibacy while we were at Parma? Consider also, I beg, that every man has a certain small stock of selfishness, and that I may be allowed to have mine when I think that if M. Dandolo took a wife the influence of that wife would of course have some weight, and that the more she gained in influence over him the more I should lose. So you see it would not be natural for me to advise him to take a step which would ultimately prove very detrimental to my interests. If you can prove that my reasons are either trifling or sophistical, speak openly: I will tell M. Dandolo that my mind has changed; Madame Tripolo will become his wife when we return to Venice. But let me warn you that thorough conviction can alone move me.


I do not believe myself clever enough to convince you. I shall write to Madame Tripolo that she must apply to you.


Do not write anything of the sort to that lady, or she will think that you are laughing at her. Do you suppose her foolish enough to expect that I will give way to her wishes? She knows that I do not like her.


How can she possibly know that?


She must have remarked that I have never cared to accompany M. Dandolo to her house. Learn from me once for all, that as long as I live with my three friends they shall have no wife but me. You may get married as soon as you please; I promise not to throw any obstacle in your way; but if you wish to remain on friendly terms with me give up all idea of leading my three friends astray.


You are very caustic this morning.


I lost all my money last night.


Then I have chosen a bad time. Farewell.


If you will put three hundred sequins in my bank, you shall be my partner. I have three hundred sequins myself, but that is not enough because the punters play high. Come and dine at my house, and you will make their acquaintance. We can play next Friday as there will be no opera, and you may rely upon our winning plenty of gold, for a certain Gilenspetz, a Swede, may lose twenty thousand sequins.


When we are alone, she kisses me so tenderly that you would be jealous if she were not a woman.


At all events. I hope to find myself in a few months in a position which will scandalize the convent if they are obstinately bent upon keeping me here.


If that is the case, you shall accompany me yourself.


I shall be delighted if all those reports are false; but you have no one to blame but yourself, for your hurried departure gave sufficient cause for all sorts of surmises.


And for slander.


That may be; but people want to know everything, and they invent when they cannot guess the truth.


And evil-minded fools lose no time in repeating those inventions everywhere.


But there can be no doubt that you wanted to kill the postillion. Is that a calumny likewise?


The greatest of all. Do you think that a good shot can miss a man when he is firing in his very face, unless he does it purposely?


It seems difficult; but at all events it is certain that the horse is dead, and you must pay for it.


No, sir, not even if the horse belonged to you, for the postillion preceded me. You know a great many things; do you happen to know the posting regulations? Besides, I was in a great hurry because I had promised a pretty woman to breakfast with her, and such engagements, as you are well aware, cannot be broken.


I am certain, that my sister is in a convent, and I shall be able to tell you the name of it when I return to Venice.


You will oblige me,


I have sold, my privileged contract for three years for a sum of fifteen thousand florins, and the man with whom I have made the bargain took me out of prison by giving security for me, and advanced me six thousand florins in four letters of exchange. I intend to buy six thousand florins worth of silk goods from the looms of Vicenza, and to give in payment to the merchants these letters of exchange. I am certain of selling those goods rapidly with a profit of ten per cent. Come with us to Vicenza; I will give you some of my goods to the amount of two hundred sequins, and thus you will find yourself covered for the guarantee which you have been kind enough to give to the jeweller for the ring. We shall complete the transaction within twenty-four hours.


If I do not go with him, he will sell the goods at a loss of twenty-five per cent., and I shall get nothing.


I have loved you, for eighteen years; the first time that I saw you we were in Padua, and we were then only nine years old.


Captain P---- C----, gave the names, profession, etc., of your party.


It is not true, it is not true!


Captain P---- C----,


Begone, madam, or, in my rage, I might forget the respect due to your sex.


I daresay, count, that you believe this woman to be my wife.


That is a fact known to everybody in the city.


Damnation! And you have believed such a thing, knowing that I occupy this room alone, and seeing me leave the ball-room and the supper-table yesterday alone, leaving her with you all!


Some husbands are blessed with such easy dispositions!


I do not think I look like one of that species, and you are not a judge of men of honour, let us go out, and I undertake to prove it to you.


What, madam! Have you not letters of exchange to the amount of six thousand florins, or the goods bought with them?


The goods are no longer here; they have all been taken away, because the letters of exchange, which you saw, and which we considered as good as cash, only made the merchants laugh; they have sent for everything. Oh! who could have supposed it?


The scoundrel! He knew it well enough, and that is why he was so anxious to bring me here. Well, it is right that I should pay the penalty of my own folly.


I intend, to go and kiss my dear child next Sunday, and I shall of course speak of you with her, for I know well enough that she will be delighted to have news of you; but to my great regret I am not at liberty to tell you where she is.


I do not wish you to tell me, my good mother, but allow me to send her this ring by you. It is the picture of her patroness, and I wish you to entreat her to wear it always on her finger; tell her to look at the image during her daily prayers, for without that protection she can never become my wife. Tell her that, on my side, I address every day a credo to St. James.


I am constantly kissing you, even when some of the nuns are looking at me, for whenever they come near me I have only to let the top part of the ring fall back and my dear patroness takes care to conceal everything. All the nuns are highly pleased with my devotion and with the confidence I have in the protection of my blessed patroness, whom they think very much like me in the face.


My mother, praised your piety very highly; she is delighted with your feelings of devotion. Never mention again, I beg, the name of my unworthy brother. I am in constant fear, of their pressing the invisible blue spot by chance. What would become of me, if my patroness, jumping up, discovered to their eyes a face--very divine, it is true, but which is not at all like that of a saint? Tell me, what could I do in such a case?


My dearest, a misfortune has befallen me last evening, and it makes me very miserable because I must keep it a secret from everyone in the convent. I am suffering from a very severe loss of blood, and I do not know what to do, having but very little linen. Laura tells me I shall require a great deal of it if the flow of blood continues. I can take no one into my confidence but you, and I entreat you to send me as much linen as you can. You see that I have been compelled to make a confidante of Laura, who is the only person allowed to enter my room at all times. If I should die, my dear husband, everybody in the convent would, of course, know the cause of my death; but I think of you, and I shudder. What will you do in your grief? Ah, darling love! what a pity!


Ah! what do I care! Provided she lives, let the whole world know that she is my wife!


Our dear patient, smiled as she was reading your letter, and she said that, with you so near her, she was certain not to die. When the nuns are at their dinner. I will go back to the convent with as much linen as I can conceal about me, and in the mean time I am going to wash all this.


Has she had any visitors?


Oh, yes! all the convent; but no one has any suspicion of the truth.


But in such hot weather as this she can have only a very light blanket over her, and her visitors must remark the great bulk of the napkins.


There is no fear of that, because she is sitting up in her bed.


What does she eat?


Nothing, for she must not eat.


I have not strength enough to write to you, my darling; I am getting weaker and weaker; I am losing all my blood, and I am afraid there is no remedy. I abandon myself to the will of God, and I thank Him for having saved me from dishonour. Do not make yourself unhappy. My only consolation is to know that you are near me. Alas! if I could see you but for one moment I would die happy.


Oh! she is no more!


She is still breathing, sir; but I fear she will not outlive this day, for she is worn out. She can hardly open her eyes, and her pulse is scarcely to be felt.


Laura, this is not bad news; provided the flooding has ceased entirely, all that is necessary is to give her some light food.


A physician has been sent for. He will prescribe whatever is right, but to tell you the truth I have not much hope.


Only give me the assurance that she is still alive.


Yes, she is, I assure you; but you understand very well that she will not tell the truth to the doctor, and God knows what he will order. I whispered to her not to take anything, and she understood me.


You are the best of women. Yes, if she does not die from weakness before to-morrow, she is saved; nature and love will have been her doctors.


May God hear you! I shall be back by twelve.


Why not before?


Because her room will be full of people.


He has ordered some restoratives and a small quantity of light broth; if she can sleep, he answers for her life. He has likewise desired her to have someone to watch her at night, and she immediately pointed her finger at me, as if she wished me to undertake that office. Now, I promise you never to leave her either night or day, except to bring you news.


A nun, who for the last two months and a half has seen you every Sunday in the church of her convent, wishes to become acquainted with you. A pamphlet which you have lost, and which chance has thrown into her hands, makes her believe that you speak French; but, if you like it better, you can answer in Italian, because what she wants above all is a clear and precise answer. She does not invite you to call for her at the parlour of the convent, because, before you place yourself under the necessity of speaking to her, she wishes you to see her, and for that purpose she will name a lady whom you can accompany to the parlour. That lady shall not know you and need not therefore introduce you, in case you should not wish to be known. Should you not approve of that way to become acquainted, the nun will appoint a certain casino in Muran, in which you will find her alone, in the evening, any night you may choose. You will then be at liberty either to sup with her, or to retire after an interview of a quarter of an hour, if you have any other engagements. Would you rather offer her a supper in Venice? Name the night, the hour, the place of appointment, and you will see her come out of a gondola. Only be careful to be there alone, masked and with a lantern. I feel certain that you will answer me, and that you will guess how impatiently I am waiting for your letter. I entreat you, therefore, to give it to-morrow to the same woman through whom you will receive mine! you will find her one hour before noon in the church of St. Cancian, near the first altar on the right. Recollect that, if I did not suppose you endowed with a noble soul and a high mind, I could never have resolved on taking a step which might give you an unfavorable opinion of my character


I answer in French, madam, in the hope that my letter will have the clearness and the precision of which you give me the example in yours. The subject is highly interesting and of the highest importance, considering all the circumstances. As I must answer without knowing the person to whom I am writing, you must feel, madam, that, unless I should possess a large dose of vanity, I must fear some mystification, and my honour requires that I should keep on my guard. If it is true that the person who has penned that letter is a respectable woman, who renders me justice in supposing me endowed with feeling as noble as her own, she will find, I trust, that I could not answer in any other way than I am doing now. If you have judged me worthy, madam, of the honour which you do me by offering me your acquaintance, although your good opinion can have been formed only from my personal appearance, I feel it my duty to obey you, even if the result be to undeceive you by proving that I had unwittingly led you into a mistaken appreciation of my person. Of the three proposals which you so kindly made in your letter, I dare not accept any but the first, with the restriction suggested by your penetrating mind. I will accompany to the parlour of your convent a lady who shall not know who I am, and, consequently, shall have no occasion to introduce me. Do not judge too severely, madam, the specious reasons which compel me not to give you my name, and receive my word of honour that I shall learn yours only to render you homage. If you choose to speak to me, I will answer with the most profound respect. Permit me to hope that you will come to the parlour alone. I may mention that I am a Venetian, and perfectly free. The only reason which prevents me from choosing one of the two other arrangements proposed by you, either of which would have suited me better because they greatly honour me, is, allow me to repeat it, a fear of being the victim of a mystification; but these modes of meeting will not be lost when you know me and when I have seen you. I entreat you to have faith in my honour, and to measure my patience by your own. Tomorrow, at the same place and at the same hour, I shall be anxiously expecting your answer.


I believe, sir, that I have not been mistaken in anything. Like you, I detest untruth when it can lead to important consequences, but I think it a mere trifle when it can do no injury to anyone. Of my three proposals you have chosen the one which does the greatest honour to your intelligence, and, respecting the reasons which induce you to keep your incognito, I have written the enclosed to the Countess of S----, which I request you to read. Be kind enough to seal it before delivery of it to her. You may call upon her whenever convenient to yourself. She will name her own hour, and you will accompany her here in her gondola. The countess will not ask you any questions, and you need not give her any explanation. There will be no presentation; but as you will be made acquainted with my name, you can afterwards call on me here, masked, whenever you please, and by using the name of the countess. In that way we shall become acquainted without the necessity of disturbing you, or of your losing at night some hours which may be precious to you. I have instructed my servant to wait for your answer in case you should be known to the countess and object to her. If you approve of the choice I have made of her, tell the messenger that there is no answer. I beg of you, my dear friend, to pay me a visit when you are at leisure, and to let the masked gentleman-bearer of this note know the hour, so that he can accompany you. He will be punctual. Farewell. You will much oblige your friend.


M---- M---- is beautiful and very witty.


I have seen her beauty, and I believe in her wit.


She did not address one word to you.


I had refused to be introduced to her, and she punished me by pretending not to know that I was present.


Adieu, sir!


What is incomprehensible, is the caprice that she took suddenly to become a nun, being handsome, rich, free, well-educated, full of wit, and, to my knowledge, a Free-thinker. She took the veil without any reason, physical or moral; it was a mere caprice.


Do you believe her to be happy, madam?


Yes, unless she has repented her decision, or if she does not repent it some day. But if ever she does, I think she will be wise enough never to say so to anyone.


Most likely she will not be engaged another time,


but I defy her to catch me in the snare again. I mean to shew her that I only laugh at her uncivil behaviour.


I can assure you, madam, that it was owing only to forgetfulness that I did not return your two letters which you will find enclosed. I have never thought of belying my own nature by taking a cowardly revenge upon you, and I forgive you most willingly the two giddy acts of which you have been guilty, whether they were committed thoughtlessly or because you wanted to enjoy a joke at my expense. Nevertheless, you will allow me to advise you not to treat any other man in the same way, for you might meet with one endowed with less delicacy. I know your name, I know who you are, but you need not be anxious; it is exactly as if I did not know it. You may, perhaps, care but little for my discretion, but if it should be so I should greatly pity you.


You may be aware that I shall not shew myself again at your church; but let me assure you that it is not a sacrifice on my part, and that I can attend mass anywhere else. Yet I must tell you why I shall abstain from frequenting the church of your convent. It is very natural for me to suppose that to the two thoughtless acts of which you have been guilty, you have added another not less serious, namely, that of having boasted of your exploits with the other nuns, and I do not want to be the butt of your jokes in cell or parlour. Do not think me too ridiculous if, in spite of being five or six years older than you, I have not thrown off all feelings of self-respect, or trodden under my feet all reserve and propriety; in one word, if I have kept some prejudices, there are a few which in my opinion ought never to be forgotten. Do not disdain, madam, the lesson which I take the liberty to teach you, as I receive in the kindest spirit the one which you have given me, most likely only for the sake of fun, but by which I promise you to profit as long as I live.


Did you faithfully carry the message to Muran?


Ah, sir! God be praised! I am very happy to see you again, for I have an important communication to make to you. I took your letter, delivered it according to your instructions, and I went away as soon as it was in the hands of the attendant, although she requested me to wait. When I returned from Muran I did not see you, but that did not matter. On the following day, one of my companions, who happened to be at the gate of the convent when I delivered your letter, came early in the morning to tell me to go to Muran, because the attendant wanted particularly to speak to me. I went there, and after waiting for a few minutes I was shewn into the parlour, where I was kept for more than an hour by a nun as beautiful as the light of day, who asked me a thousand questions for the purpose of ascertaining, if not who you are, at least where I should be likely to find you. You know that I could not give her any satisfactory information. She then left the parlour, ordering me to wait, and at the end of two hours she came back with a letter which she entrusted to my hands, telling me that, if I succeeded in finding you out and in bringing her an answer, she would give me two sequins. In the mean time I was to call at the convent every day, shew her the letter, and receive forty sons every time. Until now I have earned twenty crowns, but I am afraid the lady will get tired of it, and you can make me earn two sequins by answering a line.


Where is the letter?


In my room under lock and key, for I am always afraid of losing it.


Then how can I answer?


If you will wait for me here, you shall have the letter in less than a quarter of an hour.


I will not wait, because I do not care about the letter. But tell me how you could flatter the nun with the hope of finding me out? You are a rogue, for it is not likely that she would have trusted you with the letter if you had not promised her to find me.


I am not a rogue, for I have done faithfully what you told me; but it is true that I gave her a description of your coat, your buckles, and your figure, and I can assure you that for the last ten days I have examined all the masks who are about your size, but in vain. Now I recognize your buckles, but I do not think you have the same coat. Alas, sir! it will not cost you much to write only one line. Be kind enough to wait for me in the coffee-house close by.


The mask who accompanied me back to my house would not, I believe, have uttered a single word, if I had not told him that the charms of your witty mind were even more bewitching than those of your person;


I have seen the one, and I believe in the other.


I added that I did not understand why you had not spoken to him, and he said, with a smile, ‘I refused to be presented to her, and she punished me for it by not appearing to know that I was present.’ These few words were all our dialogue. I intended to send you this note this morning, but found it impossible. Adieu.


Owing to an excusable weakness, feeling curious to know what you would say about me to the countess after you had seen me, I took an opportunity of asking her to let me know all you said to her on the following day at latest, for I foresaw that you would pay me a visit in the afternoon. Her letter, which I enclose, and which I beg you to read, did not reach me till half an hour after you had left the convent. This was the first fatality.


Not having received that letter when you called, I had not the courage to see you. This absurd weakness on my part was the second fatality, but the weakness you will; I hope; forgive. I gave orders to the lay-sister to tell you that I was ill for the whole day; a very legitimate excuse; whether true or false, for it was an officious untruth, the correction of which, was to be found in the words: for the whole day. You had already left the convent, and I could not possibly send anyone to run after you, when the old fool informed me of her having told you that I was engaged.


This was the third fatality.


You cannot imagine what I had a mind to do and to say to that foolish sister; but here one must say or do nothing; one must be patient and dissemble, thanking God when mistakes are the result of ignorance and not of wickedness--a very common thing in convents. I foresaw at once, at least partly; what would happen; and what has actually, happened; for no reasonable being could, I believe, have foreseen it all. I guessed that, thinking yourself the victim of a joke, you would be incensed, and I felt miserable, for I did not see any way of letting you know the truth before the following Sunday. My heart longed ardently for that day. Could I possibly imagine that you would take a resolution not to come again to our church! I tried to be patient until that Sunday; but when I found myself disappointed in my hope, my misery became unbearable, and it will cause my death if you refuse to listen to my justification. Your letter has made me completely unhappy, and I shall not resist my despair if you persist in the cruel resolve expressed by your unfeeling letter. You have considered yourself trifled with; that is all you can say; but will this letter convince you of your error? And even believing yourself deceived in the most scandalous manner, you must admit that to write such an awful letter you must have supposed me an abominable wretch--a monster, such as a woman of noble birth and of refined education cannot possibly be. I enclose the two letters you sent back to me, with the idea of allaying my fears which you cruelly supposed very different to what they are in reality. I am a better physiognomist than you, and you must be quite certain that I have not acted thoughtlessly, for I never thought you capable, I will not say of crime, but even of an indelicate action. You must have read on my features the signs only of giddy impudence, and that is not my nature. You may be the cause of my death, you will certainly make me miserable for the remainder of my life, if you do not justify yourself; on my side I think the justification is complete.


I hope that, even if you feel no interest in my life, you will think that you are bound in honour to come and speak to me. Come yourself to recall all you have written; it is your duty, and I deserve it. If you do not realize the fatal effect produced upon me by your letter, I must indeed pity you, in spite of my misery, for it proves that you have not the slightest knowledge of the human heart. But I feel certain that you will come back, provided the man to whom I trust this letter contrives to find you. Adieu! I expect life or death from you.


Go down again and wait,


I plead guilty, madam; I cannot possibly justify myself, and I am perfectly convinced of your innocence. I should be disconsolate if I did not hope to obtain pardon, and you will not refuse to forgive me if you are kind enough to recollect the cause of my guilt. I saw you; I was dazzled, and I could not realize a happiness which seemed to me a dream; I thought myself the prey of one of those delightful illusions which vanish when we wake up. The doubt under which I was labouring could not be cleared up for twenty-four hours, and how could I express my feverish impatience as I was longing for that happy moment! It came at last! and my heart, throbbing with desire and hope, was flying towards you while I was in the parlour counting the minutes! Yet an hour passed almost rapidly, and not unnaturally, considering my impatience and the deep impression I felt at the idea of seeing you. But then, precisely at the very moment when I believed myself certain that I was going to gaze upon the beloved features which had been in one interview indelibly engraved upon my heart, I saw the most disagreeable face appear, and a creature announced that you were engaged for the whole day, and without giving me time to utter one word she disappeared! You may imagine my astonishment and... the rest. The lightning would not have produced upon me a more rapid, a more terrible effect! If you had sent me a line by that sister--a line from your hand--I would have gone away, if not pleased, at least submissive and resigned.


But that was a fourth fatality which you have forgotten to add to your delightful and witty justification. Thinking myself scoffed at, my self-love rebelled, and indignation for the moment silenced love. Shame overwhelmed me! I thought that everybody could read on my face all the horror in my heart, and I saw in you, under the outward appearance of an angel, nothing but a fearful daughter of the Prince of Darkness. My mind was thoroughly upset, and at the end of eleven days I lost the small portion of good sense that was left in me--at least I must suppose so, as it is then that I wrote to you the letter of which you have so good a right to complain, and which at that time seemed to me a masterpiece of moderation.


But I hope it is all over now, and this very day at eleven o’clock you will see me at your feet--tender, submissive and repentant. You will forgive me, divine woman, or I will myself avenge you for the insult I have hurled at you. The only thing which I dare to ask from you as a great favour is to burn my first letter, and never to mention it again. I sent it only after I had written four, which I destroyed one after the other: you may therefore imagine the state of my heart.


I have given orders to my messenger to go to your convent at once, so that my letter can be delivered to you as soon as you wake in the morning. He would never have discovered me, if my good angel had not made me go up to him at the door of the opera-house. But I shall not require his services any more; do not answer me, and receive all the devotion of a heart which adores you.


Our acquaintance, has begun with a violent storm; let us hope that we shall now enjoy it long in perfect and lasting calm. This is the first time that we speak to one another, but what has occurred must be enough to give us a thorough knowledge of each other. I trust that our intimacy will be as tender as sincere, and that we shall know how to have a mutual indulgence for our faults.


Can such an angel as you have any?


Ah, my friend! who is without them?


When shall I have the happiness of convincing you of my devotion with complete freedom and in all the joy of my heart?


We will take supper together at my casino whenever you please, provided you give me notice two days beforehand; or I will go and sup with you in Venice, if it will not disturb your arrangements.


It would only increase my happiness. I think it right to tell you that I am in very easy circumstances, and that, far from fearing expense, I delight in it: all I possess belongs to the woman I love.


That confidence, my dear friend, is very agreeable to me, the more so that I have likewise to tell you that I am very rich, and that I could not refuse anything to my lover.


But you must have a lover?


Yes; it is through him that I am rich, and he is entirely my master. I never conceal anything from him. The day after to-morrow, when I am alone with you, I will tell you more.


But I hope that your lover....


Will not be there? Certainly not. Have you a mistress?


I had one, but, alas! she has been taken from me by violent means, and for the last six months I have led a life of complete celibacy.


Do you love her still?


I cannot think of her without loving her. She has almost as great charms, as great beauty, as you have; but I foresee that you will make me forget her.


If your happiness with her was complete, I pity you. She has been violently taken from you, and you shun society in order to feed your sorrow. I have guessed right, have I not? But if I happen to take possession of her place in your heart, no one, my sweet friend, shall turn me out of it.


But what will your lover say?


He will be delighted to see me happy with such a lover as you. It is in his nature.


What an admirable nature! Such heroism is quite beyond me!


What sort of a life do you lead in Venice?


I live at the theatres, in society, in the casinos, where I fight against fortune sometimes with good sometimes with bad success.


Do you visit the foreign ambassadors?


No, because I am too much acquainted with the nobility; but I know them all.


How can you know them if you do not see them?


I have known them abroad. In Parma the Duke de Montalegre, the Spanish ambassador; in Vienna I knew Count Rosemberg; in Paris, about two years ago, the French ambassador.


It is near twelve o’clock, my dear friend; it is time for us to part. Come at the same hour the day after tomorrow, and I will give you all the instructions which you will require to enable you to come and sup with me.


Alone?


Of course.


May I venture to ask you for a pledge? The happiness which you promise me is so immense!


What pledge do you want?


To see you standing before that small window in the grating with permission for me to occupy the same place as Madame de S----.


Nec metuam quid de me judicet heres, Quod non plura datis inveniet.


Good heavens! are you ill?


No, but I may well look so, for the expectation of happiness wears me out. I have lost sleep and appetite, and if my felicity were to be deferred my life would be the forfeit.


There shall be no delay, dearest; but how impatient you are! Let us sit down. Here is the key of my casino. You will find some persons in it, because we must be served; but nobody will speak to you, and you need not speak to anyone. You must be masked, and you must not go there till two hours after sunset; mind, not before. Then go up the stairs opposite the street-door, and at the top of those stairs you will see, by the light of a lamp, a green door which you will open to enter the apartment which you will find lighted. You will find me in the second room, and in case I should not be there you will wait for me a few minutes; you may rely upon my being punctual. You can take off your mask in that room, and make yourself comfortable; you will find some books and a good fire. I always leave the convent with it, but I have at the casino a complete wardrobe to transform myself into an elegant woman of the world, and even to disguise myself.


I hope you will do me the favour to remain in the dress of a nun.


Why so, I beg?


I love to see you in that dress.


Ah! ah! I understand. You fancy that my head is shaved, and you are afraid. But comfort yourself, dear friend, my wig is so beautifully made that it defies detection; it is nature itself.


Oh, dear! what are you saying? The very name of wig is awful. But no, you may be certain that I will find you lovely under all circumstances. I only entreat you not to put on that cruel wig in my presence. Do I offend you? Forgive me; I am very sorry to have mentioned that subject. Are you sure that no one can see you leave the convent?


You will be sure of it yourself when you have gone round the island and seen the small door on the shore. I have the key of a room opening on the shore, and I have every confidence in the sister who serves me.


And the gondola?


My lover himself answers for the fidelity of the gondoliers.


What a man that lover is! I fancy he must be an old man.


You are mistaken; if he were old, I should be ashamed. He is not forty, and he has everything necessary to be loved--beauty, wit, sweet temper, and noble behaviour.


And he forgives your amorous caprices?


What do you mean by caprices? A year ago he obtained possession of me, and before him I had never belonged to a man; you are the first who inspired me with a fancy. When I confessed it to him he was rather surprised, then he laughed, and read me a short lecture upon the risk I was running in trusting a man who might prove indiscreet. He wanted me to know at least who you were before going any further, but it was too late. I answered for your discretion, and of course I made him laugh by my being so positively the guarantee of a man whom I did not know.


When did you confide in him?


The day before yesterday, and without concealing anything from him. I have shewn him my letters and yours; he thinks you are a Frenchman, although you represent yourself as a Venetian. He is very curious to know who you are, but you need not be afraid; I promise you faithfully never to take any steps to find it out myself.


And I promise you likewise not to try to find out who is this wonderful man as wonderful as you are yourself. I am very miserable when I think of the sorrow I have caused you.


Do not mention that subject any more; when I consider the matter, I see that only a conceited man would have acted differently.


My friend, I have an appetite which promises to do honour to the supper; are you able to keep me good company?


Yes, yes, I can; and afterwards you shall judge whether I am able to sacrifice to Love as well as to Comus.


Let time, dearest, satisfy our mutual curiosity. I have the same,


It is a very scarce perfume, and very expensive.


Yes; in fact it cannot be bought.


Very true; the inventor of that essence wears a crown; it is the King of France; his majesty made a pound of it, which cost him thirty thousand crowns.


Mine was a gift presented to my lover, and he gave it to me.


Madame de Pompadour sent a small phial of it to M. de Mocenigo, the Venetian ambassador in Paris, through M. de B----, now French ambassador here.


Do you know him?


I have had the honour to dine with him on the very day he came to take leave of the ambassador by whom I had been invited. M. de B---- is a man whom fortune has smiled upon, but he has captivated it by his merit; he is not less distinguished by his talents than by his birth; he is, I believe, Count de Lyon. I recollect that he was nicknamed ‘Belle Babet,’ on account of his handsome face. There is a small collection of poetry written by him which does him great honour. Cruel darling, have you promised me happiness only to make me suffer the tortures of Tantalus? If you will not give way to love, at least obey the laws of nature after such a delicious supper, go to bed.


Are you sleepy?


Of course I am not; but it is late enough to go to bed. Allow me to undress you; I will remain by your bedside, or even go away if you wish it.


If you were to leave me, you would grieve me.


My grief would be as great as yours, believe me, but if I remain what shall we do?


We can lie down in our clothes on this sofa.


With our clothes! Well, let it be so; I will let you sleep, if you wish it; but you must forgive me if I do not sleep myself; for to sleep near you and without undressing would be impossible.


Wait a little.


What is the matter?


Let us get up, dearest; it is time for me to return to the convent.


Dress yourself, and let me have the pleasure of seeing you in the garb of a saint, since you are going away a virgin.


Be satisfied for this time, dearest, and learn from me how to practice abstinence; we shall be happier another time. When I have gone, if you have nothing to hurry you, you can rest here.


I expect to see you the day after to-morrow, so as to hear from you which night I am to meet you in Venice; and then, my beloved lover, you shall be happy and I too. Farewell.


I am going to give you, my best beloved, a specimen of my way of thinking; and I trust that, far from lowering me in your estimation, you will judge me, in spite of my youth, capable of keeping a secret and worthy of being your wife. Certain that your heart is mine, I do not blame you for having made a mystery of certain things, and not being jealous of what can divert your mind and help you to bear patiently our cruel separation, I can only delight in whatever procures you some pleasure. Listen now. Yesterday, as I was going along one of the halls, I dropped a tooth-pick which I held in my hand, and to get it again, I was compelled to displace a stool which happened to be in front of a crack in the partition. I have already become as curious as a nun--a fault very natural to idle people--I placed my eye against the small opening, and whom did I see? You in person, my darling, conversing in the most lively manner with my charming friend, Sister M---- M----. It would be difficult for you to imagine my surprise and joy. But those two feelings gave way soon to the fear of being seen and of exciting the curiosity of some inquisitive nun. I quickly replaced the stool, and I went away. Tell me all, dearest friend, you will make me happy. How could I cherish you with all my soul, and not be anxious to know the history of your adventure? Tell me if she knows you, and how you have made her acquaintance. She is my best friend, the one of whom I have spoken so often to you in my letters, without thinking it necessary to tell you her name. She is the friend who teaches me French, and has lent me books which gave me a great deal of information on a matter generally little known to women. If it had not been for her, the cause of the accident which has been so near costing me my life, would have been discovered. She gave me sheets and linen immediately; to her I owe my honour; but she has necessarily learned in that way that I have a lover, as I know that she has one; but neither of us has shewn any anxiety to know the secrets of the other. Sister M---- M---- is a rare woman. I feel certain, dearest, that you love one another; it cannot be otherwise since you are acquainted; but as I am not jealous of that affection, I deserve that you should tell me all. I pity you both, however; for all you may do will, I fear, only irritate your passion. Everyone in the convent thinks that you are ill, and I am longing to see you. Come, at least, once. Adieu!


The abbess, told me how glad she was to see you, and that she was certain to find out who you are.


I have resolved not to attend your church any more.


That will be a great deprivation to me, but in our common interest I can but approve your resolution. It is already repaired, and there is no longer any fear in that quarter. I heard of it from a young boarder whom I love dearly, and who is much attached to me. I am not curious to know her name, and she has never mentioned it to me.


Now, darling angel, tell me whether my happiness will be postponed.


Yes, but only for twenty-four hours; the new professed sister has invited me to supper in her room, and you must understand I cannot invent any plausible excuse for refusing her invitation.


You would not, then, tell her in confidence the very legitimate obstacle which makes me wish that the new sisters never take supper?


Certainly not: we never trust anyone so far in a convent. Besides, dearest, such an invitation cannot be declined unless I wish to gain a most bitter enemy.


Could you not say that you are ill?


Yes; but then the visits!


I understand; if you should refuse, the escape might be suspected.


The escape! impossible; here no one admits the possibility of breaking out of the convent.


Then you are the only one able to perform that miracle?


You may be sure of that; but, as is always the case, it is gold which performs that miracle.


And many others, perhaps.


Oh! the time has gone by for them! But tell me, my love, where will you wait for me to-morrow, two hours after the setting of the sun?


Could I not wait for you at your casino?


No, because my lover will take me himself to Venice.


Your lover?


Yes, himself.


It is not possible.


Yet it is true.


I can wait for you in St. John and St. Paul’s Square behind the pedestal of the statue of Bartholomew of Bergamo.


I have never seen either the square or the statue except in engravings; it is enough, however, and I will not fail. Nothing but very stormy weather could prevent me from coming to a rendezvous for which my heart is panting.


And if the weather were bad?


Then, dearest, there would be nothing lost; and you would come here again in order to appoint another day.


I shall not fail; sir, another time, to execute your commands.


Let the supper be served.


Your honour ordered it for two.


Yes, for two; and, this time, be present during my supper, so that I can tell you which dishes I find good or bad.


All I see, my divine angel, is not worthy of you; yet I cannot refrain from expressing my admiration for the wonderful, I might almost say adorable, being who wants to convince you that you are truly his mistress.


That is what he said when I asked him to bring me to Venice, and to leave me. Amuse yourself, and I hope that the man whom you are going to make happy will convince you that he is worthy of it.


He is indeed an extraordinary man, and I do not think there is another like him. Such a lover is a unique being; and I feel that I could not be like him, as deeply as I fear to be unworthy of a happiness which dazzles me.


Allow me to leave you, and to take off these clothes alone.


Do anything you please. No, adorable woman, you are not made for a mortal, and I do not believe that you will ever be mine. At the very moment of possessing you some miracle will wrest you from my arms. Your divine spouse, perhaps, jealous of a simple mortal, will annihilate all my hope. It is possible that in a few minutes I shall no longer exist.


Are you mad, dearest? I am yours this very instant, if you wish it.


Ah! if I wish it! Although fasting, come! Love and happiness will be my food!


Wait until after supper.


Do not be anxious, dearest. You will be able to tell your lover that no one saw you.


He will appreciate your delicate attention, and that will prove to him that you are not a novice in the art of love. But it is evident that I am not the only one who enjoys with you the delights of this charming residence.


You are wrong, believe me: you are the first woman I have seen here. You are not, adorable creature, my first love, but you shall be the last.


I shall be happy if you are faithful. My lover is constant, kind, gentle and amiable; yet my heart has ever been fancy-free with him.


Then his own heart must be the same; for if his love was of the same nature as mine you would never have made me happy.


He loves me as I love you; do you believe in my love for you?


Yes, I want to believe in it; but you would not allow me to....


Do not say any more; for I feel that I could forgive you in anything, provided you told me all. The joy I experience at this moment is caused more by the hope I have of gratifying your desires than by the idea that I am going to pass a delightful night with you. It will be the first in my life.


What! Have you never passed such a night with your lover?


Several; but friendship, compliance, and gratitude, perhaps, were then the only contributors to our pleasures; the most essential--love--was never present. In spite of that, my lover is like you; his wit is lively, very much the same as yours, and, as far as his features are concerned, he is very handsome; yet it is not you. I believe him more wealthy than you, although this casino almost convinces me that I am mistaken, but what does love care for riches? Do not imagine that I consider you endowed with less merit than he, because you confess yourself incapable of his heroism in allowing me to enjoy another love. Quite the contrary; I know that you would not love me as you do, if you told me that you could be as indulgent as he is for one of my caprices.


Will he be curious to hear the particulars of this night?


Most likely he will think that he will please me by asking what has taken place, and I will tell him everything, except such particulars as might humiliate him.


Recollect that we have only seven hours before us, and that we should be very foolish to waste them in this room.


You reason better than Socrates, and your eloquence has convinced me. Come!


It is he,


My friend, came yesterday in order to bid farewell to me until the Christmas holidays. He is going to Padua, but everything has been arranged so that we can sup at his casino whenever we wish.


Why not in Venice?


He has begged me not to go there during his absence. He is wise and prudent; I could not refuse his request.


You are quite right. When shall we sup together?


Next Sunday, if you like.


If I like is not the right expression, for I always like. On Sunday, then, I will go to the casino towards nightfall, and wait for you with a book. Have you told your friend that you were not very uncomfortable in my small palace?


He knows all about it, but, dearest, he is afraid of one thing--he fears a certain fatal plumpness....


On my life, I never thought of that! But, my darling, do you not run the same risk with him?


No, it is impossible.


I understand you. Then we must be very prudent for the future. I believe that, nine days before Christmas, the mask is no longer allowed, and then I shall have to go to your casino by water, otherwise, I might easily be recognized by the same spy who has already followed me once.


Now that we know each other, and that you entertain no doubt, I trust, of my devoted love, I wish to ease my conscience and to venture all. Learn then, dearest, that on the last day of the year, my friend will be at the casino, which he will leave only the next morning. You will not see him, but he will see us. As you are supposed not to know anything about it, you must feel that you will have to be natural in everything, otherwise, he might guess that I have betrayed the secret. It is especially in your conversation that you must be careful. My friend possesses every virtue except the theological one called faith, and on that subject you can say anything you like. You will be at liberty to talk literature, travels, politics, anything you please, and you need not refrain from anecdotes. In fact you are certain of his approbation.


Now, dearest, I have only this to say. Do you feel disposed to allow yourself to be seen by another man while you are abandoning yourself to the sweet voluptuousness of your senses? That doubt causes all my anxiety, and I entreat from you an answer, yes or no. Do you understand how painful the doubt is for me? I expect not to close my eyes throughout the night, and I shall not rest until I have your decision. In case you should object to shew your tenderness in the presence of a third person, I will take whatever determination love may suggest to me. But I hope you will consent, and even if you were not to perform the character of an ardent lover in a masterly manner, it would not be of any consequence. I will let my friend believe that your love has not reached its apogee


You wish me, heavenly creature, to answer you yes or no, and I, full of love for you, want my answer to reach you before noon, so that you may dine in perfect peace.


I will spend the last night of the year with you, and I can assure you that the friend, to whom we will give a spectacle worthy of Paphos and Amathos, shall see or hear nothing likely to make him suppose that I am acquainted with his secret. You may be certain that I will play my part not as a novice but as a master. If it is man’s duty to be always the slave of his reason; if, as long as he has control over himself, he ought not to act without taking it for his guide, I cannot understand why a man should be ashamed to shew himself to a friend at the very moment that he is most favoured by love and nature.


Yet I confess that you would have been wrong if you had confided the secret to me the first time, and that most likely I should then have refused to grant you that mark of my compliance, not because I loved you less then than I do now, but there are such strange tastes in nature that I might have imagined that your lover’s ruling taste was to enjoy the sight of an ardent and frantic couple in the midst of amorous connection, and in that case, conceiving an unfavourable opinion of you, vexation might have frozen the love you had just sent through my being. Now, however, the case is very different. I know all I possess in you, and, from all you have told me of your lover, I am well disposed towards him, and I believe him to be my friend. If a feeling of modesty does not deter you from shewing yourself tender, loving, and full of amorous ardour with me in his presence, how could I be ashamed, when, on the contrary, I ought to feel proud of myself? I have no reason to blush at having made a conquest of you, or at shewing myself in those moments during which I prove the liberality with which nature has bestowed upon me the shape and the strength which assure such immense enjoyment to me, besides the certainty that I can make the woman I love share it with me. I am aware that, owing to a feeling which is called natural, but which is perhaps only the result of civilization and the effect of the prejudices inherent in youth, most men object to any witness in those moments, but those who cannot give any good reasons for their repugnance must have in their nature something of the cat. At the same time, they might have some excellent reasons, without their thinking themselves bound to give them, except to the woman, who is easily deceived. I excuse with all my heart those who know that they would only excite the pity of the witnesses, but we both have no fear of that sort. All you have told me of your friend proves that he will enjoy our pleasures. But do you know what will be the result of it? The intensity of our ardour will excite his own, and he will throw himself at my feet, begging and entreating me to give up to him the only object likely to calm his amorous excitement. What could I do in that case? Give you up? I could hardly refuse to do so with good grace, but I would go away, for I could not remain a quiet spectator.


Farewell, my darling love; all will be well, I have no doubt. Prepare yourself for the athletic contest, and rely upon the fortunate being who adores you.


My friend is not yet at his post, but the moment he is there I will give you a wink.


Where is the mysterious closet?


There it is. Look at the back of this sofa against the wall. All those flowers in relief have a hole in the centre which communicates with the closet behind that wall. There is a bed, a table, and everything necessary to a person who wants to spend the night in amusing himself by looking at what is going on in this room. I will shew it to you whenever you like.


Was it arranged by your lover’s orders?


No, for he could not foresee that he would use it.


I understand that he may find great pleasure in such a sight, but being unable to possess you at the very moment nature will make you most necessary to him, what will he do?


That is his business. Besides, he is at liberty to go away when he has had enough of it, or to sleep if he has a mind to, but if you play your part naturally he will not feel any weariness.


I will be most natural, but I must be more polite.


No, no politeness, I beg, for if you are polite, goodbye to nature. Where have you ever seen, I should like to know, two lovers, excited by all the fury of love, think of politeness?


You are right, darling, but I must be more delicate.


Very well, delicacy can do no harm, but no more than usual. Your letter greatly pleased me, you have treated the subject like a man of experience.


That taste,


proves him to be a Frenchman.


The more I look at you, beloved angel, the more I think you worthy of my adoration.


But are you not certain that you do not worship a cruel divinity?


Yes, and therefore I do not offer my sacrifices to appease you, but to excite you. You shall feel all through the night the ardour of my devotion.


You will not find me insensible to your offerings.


I would begin them at once, but I think that, in order to insure their efficiency, we ought to have supper first. I have taken nothing to-day but a cup of chocolate and a salad of whites of eggs dressed with oil from Lucca and Marseilles vinegar.


But, dearest, it is folly! you must be ill?


Yes, I am just now, but I shall be all right when I have distilled the whites of eggs, one by one, into your amorous soul.


I did not think you required any such stimulants.


Who could want any with you? But I have a rational fear, for if I happened to prime without being able to fire, I would blow my brains out.


My dear browny, it would certainly be a misfortune, but there would be no occasion to be in despair on that account.


You think that I would only have to prime again.


Of course. They are a present from my friend.


It is a magnificent present, has he given you the snuffers likewise?


No


It is a proof that your friend is a great nobleman.


How so?


Because great lords have no idea of snuffing the candle.


Our candles have wicks which never require that operation.


Good! Tell me who has taught you French.


Old La Forest. I have been his pupil for six years. He has also taught me to write poetry, but you know a great many words which I never heard from him, such as ‘a gogo, frustratoire, rater, dorloter’. Who taught you these words?


The good company in Paris, and women particularly.


Wait here. I am going to change my dress. I shall be back in one minute.


Control your ardour a few moments, here is the altar, and in a few minutes the victim will be in your arms. You will see, how far the delicacy and the kind attention of my friend can extend. I am going to pay you in your own coin.


Sans rien oter au plaisir amoureux, L’objet de ton larcin sert a combier nos voeux. A l’abri du danger, mon ame satisfaite Savoure en surete parfaite; Et si tu veux jauer avec securite, Rends-moi mon doux ami, ces dons de l’amitie.


He has remarked, that perhaps I do not confess anything to him because I did not examine my conscience sufficiently, and I answered him that I had nothing to say, but that if he liked I would commit a few sins for the purpose of having something to tell him in confession.


That which will, I hope, render this present dear to you is the portrait of a woman who adores you. Our friend had two of them, but the great friendship he entertains towards you has given him the happy idea of disposing of one in your favour. This box contains two portraits of me, which are to be seen in two different ways: if you take off the bottom part, of the case in its length, you will see me as a nun; and if you press on the corner, the top will open and expose me to your sight in a state of nature. It is not possible, dearest, that a woman can ever have loved you as I do. Our friend excites my passion by the flattering opinion that he entertains of you. I cannot decide whether I am more fortunate in my friend or in my lover, for I could not imagine any being superior to either one or the other.


I take you for my partner. Our stakes are not high enough to interest this gentleman; let us go.


Your mask is too exacting.


Yes, but be prudent, for our friend pretends that you might die on the spot. He says that the liquor distilled by us women does not come from the brain, as is the case with men, and that the generating parts of woman have no contact with her intellect. The consequence of it, he says, is that the child is not the offspring of the mother as far as the brain, the seat of reason, is concerned, but of the father, and it seems to me very true. In that important act the woman has scarcely the amount of reason that she is in need of, and she cannot have any left to enable her to give a dose to the being she is generating. Your friend is a very learned man. But do you know that such a way of arguing opens my eyes singularly? It is evident that, if that system be true, women ought to be forgiven for all the follies which they commit on account of love, whilst man is inexcusable, and I should be in despair if I happened to place you in a position to become a mother. I shall know before long, and if it should be the case so much the better. My mind is made up, and my decision taken. To abandon my destiny entirely to you both. I am quite certain that neither one nor the other would let me remain at the convent. It would be a fatal event which would decide our future destinies. I would carry you off, and take you to England to marry you. My friend thinks that a physician might be bought, who, under the pretext of some disease of his own invention, would prescribe to me to go somewhere to drink the waters--a permission which the bishop might grant. At the watering-place I would get cured, and come back here, but I would much rather unite our destinies for ever. Tell me, dearest, could you manage to live anywhere as comfortably as you do here? Alas! my love, no, but with you how could I be unhappy? But we will resume that subject whenever it may be necessary. Let us go to bed. Yes. If I have a son my friend wishes to act towards him as a father. Would he believe himself to be the father? You might both of you believe it, but some likeness would soon enlighten me as to which of you two was the true father. Yes. If, for instance, the child composed poetry, then you would suppose that he was the son of your friend. How do you know that my friend can write poetry? Admit that he is the author of the six lines which you wrote in answer to mine. I cannot possibly admit such a falsehood, because, good or bad, they were of my own making, and so as to leave you no doubt let me convince you of it at once. Oh, never mind! I believe you, and let us go to bed, or Love will call out the god of Parnassus. Let him do it, but take this pencil and write; I am Apollo, you may be Love. Je ne me battrai pas; je te cede la place. Si Venus est ma soeur, L’Amour est de ma race. Je sais faire des vers. Un instant de perdu N’offense pas L’Amour, si je l’ai convaincu. It is on my knees that I entreat your pardon, my heavenly friend, but how could I expect so much talent in a young daughter of Venice, only twenty-two years of age, and, above all, brought up in a convent? I have a most insatiate desire to prove myself more and more worthy of you. Did you think I was prudent at the gaming-table? Prudent enough to make the most intrepid banker tremble. I do not always play so well, but I had taken you as a partner, and I felt I could set fortune at defiance. Why would you not play? Because I had lost four thousand sequins last week and I was without money, but I shall play to-morrow, and fortune will smile upon me. In the mean time, here is a small book which I have brought from your boudoir: the postures of Pietro Aretino; I want to try some of them. The thought is worthy of you, but some of these positions could not be executed, and others are insipid. True, but I have chosen four very interesting ones.


Ah! how truly happy I am, my beloved husband! You love Sister M---- M----, my dear friend. She has a locket as big as a ring, and she cannot have received it from anyone but you. I am certain that your dear likeness is to be found under the Annunciation. I recognized the style of the artist, and it is certainly the same who painted the locket and my ring. I am satisfied that Sister M---- M---- has received that present from you. I am so pleased to know all that I would not run the risk of grieving her by telling her that I knew her secret, but my dear friend, either more open or more curious, has not imitated my reserve. She told me that she had no doubt of my St. Catherine concealing the portrait of my lover. Unable to say anything better, I told her that the ring was in reality a gift from my lover, but that I had no idea of his portrait being concealed inside of it. ‘If it is as you say,’ observed M---- M----, ‘and if you have no objection, I will try to find out the secret, and afterwards I will let you know mine.’ Being quite certain that she would not discover it, I gave her my ring, saying that, if she could find out the secret, I should be very much pleased. Just as that moment my aunt paid me a visit, and I left my ring in the hands of M---- M----, who returned it to me after dinner, assuring me that, although she had not been able to find out the secret, she was certain there was one. I promise you that she shall never hear anything about it from me, because if she saw your portrait, she would guess everything, and then I should have to tell her who you are. I am sorry to be compelled to conceal anything from her, but I am very glad you love one another. I pity you both, however, with all my heart, because I know that you are obliged to make love through a grating in that horrid parlour. How I wish, dearest, I could give you my place! I would make two persons happy at the same time! Adieu!


I breathe again! it could not be anyone but you, my heart felt it. You seemed surprised when you saw me, dearest; did you not know that I was waiting for you?


I had not the faintest idea of it.


If you are angry, I regret it deeply, but I am innocent.


My adored friend, come to my arms, and never suppose that I can be angry with you. I am delighted to see you; you are always my dear wife: but I entreat you to clear up a cruel doubt, for you could never have betrayed my secret.


I! I would never have been guilty of such a thing, even if death had stared me in the face.


Then, how did you come here? How did your friend contrive to discover everything? No one but you could tell her that I am your husband. Laura perhaps....’


No, Laura is faithful, dearest, and I cannot guess how it was.


But how could you be persuaded to assume that disguise, and to come here? You can leave the convent, and you have never apprised me of that important circumstance.