No, and I have never felt the desire to love.


Then I may kiss your hand?


Why should you kiss my hand?


All the same, I must introduce you to her, for she may be a relation of yours. Her name is the same; that is her father over there. M. Casanova. I beg to introduce to you M. Casanova, a friend of my father’s.


Really? The same name; I wish, sir, you were my friend, as we are, perhaps, related. I belong to the Naples branch.


Then we are related, though distantly, as my father came from Parma. Have you your pedigree?


I ought to have such a thing, but to tell you the truth, I don’t think much of such matters. Besants d’or and such heraldic moneys are not currency in a mercantile republic.


Pedigree-hunting is certainly a somewhat foolish pursuit; but it may nevertheless afford us a few minutes’ amusement without our making any parade of our ancestry.


With all my heart.


I shall have the honour of calling on you to-morrow, and I will bring my family-tree with me. Will you be vexed if you find the root of your family also?


Not at all; I shall be delighted. I will call on you myself to-morrow. May I ask if you are a business man?


No, I am a financial agent in the employ of the French ministry. I am staying with M. Pels.


She goes from one town to another, singing at all the public concerts, and all she receives is what those present choose to give her on a plate which she takes round.


Does she find that pay?


Would you like some sweets, my dear?


Does it strike you, M. Casanova, that you and that little girl are as like each other as two peas?


Yes, indeed, there is a striking likeness.


These resemblances are often the work of chance. Just so, but you admit a likeness, don’t you?


I confess I was struck with it, though of course I cannot judge so well as you.


She is too precious a treasure in my sight; if we were separated I should die. You are wrong; for if I took charge of the little girl I should see that she was well provided for. I have a son of twelve to whom I cannot give a proper education; take charge of him instead of Sophie. Where is he? He is boarding, or rather in pawn, at Rotterdam. What do you mean by in pawn? I mean that he will not be returned to me until I pay the person who has got him all my debts.


How much do you owe?


Eighty florins. You have already given me sixty-two, give me four ducats more; you can then take my son, and I shall be the happiest of mothers. I will send my son to you at the Hague next week, as I think you will be there.


Yes, my dear Thérèse; and instead of four ducats, here are twenty.


We shall see each other again at the Hague.


Tell me, M. Casanova, who this woman is?


She is a Venetian whose husband died recently; I knew her when I was a lad, and it was six years since I had seen her last.


You were agreeably surprised, then, to see your daughter?


Why do you think the child is my daughter? Madame Trenti was married then.


The likeness is really too strong. And how about your falling asleep yesterday when you were supping with M. Pels?


It was no wonder that I went asleep, as I had not closed an eye the night before.


I am envious of anyone who possesses the secret of getting a good sleep, for I have always to wait long hours before sleep comes to me, and when I awake, instead of being refreshed, I feel heavy and languid from fatigue.


Try passing the night in listening to one in whom you take an interest, telling the story of her life, and I promise you that you will sleep well the night after.


There is no such person for me.


No, because you have as yet only seen fourteen summers; but afterwards there will be someone.


Maybe, but what I want just now is books, and the help of someone who will guide my reading.


That would be an easy matter for anyone who knew your tastes.


I like history and travels, but for a book to please me it must be all true, as I lay it down at the slightest suspicion of its veracity.


Now I think I may venture to offer my services, and if you will accept them I believe I shall be able to give satisfaction.


I accept your offer, and shall keep you to your word.


You need not be afraid of my breaking it, and before I leave for the Hague I will prove that I am reliable. Nevertheless, you will continue to be my only attraction.


There may be a mistake, at any rate we should ascertain the truth of the matter. M. Casanova, had you any adventures on your journey from the Hague to Amsterdam?


No adventure to speak of, except a meeting with a fine fellow who desired to see my carriage turn upside down into the ditch, and who I think is present now.


Come, come, let us put on our skates, and try the Amstel, for I am afraid that unless we go forthwith the ice will have melted.


I am quite sure, that you would not have come at all unless I had asked you to come and embrace me. Go away, go away and enjoy yourself at the Hague with the fair Trenti, who possesses so pretty a token of your love.


My dear Esther, I am going to the Hague to talk business with the ambassador, and for no other reason, and in six days at latest you will see me back again, as much your lover as before, and desiring nothing better than to please you.


I rely upon your word of honour, but mind you do not deceive me.


Mamma, dear, is not this fine gentleman the same we saw at Amsterdam, and who was taken for my papa because I am like him? But that cannot be, for my papa is dead.


So he is, sweetheart; but I may be your dear friend, mayn’t I? Would you like to have me for a friend?


Yes, yes!


I have never given the margrave better fare, at those nice little suppers we used to take together.


All I can say is, your system is an abominable one. You may have strangled in their infancy all the finer qualities with which nature has endowed your son, and have fairly set him on the way to become a monster instead of an angel. I don’t see how the most devoted father can possibly have any affection for a son who keeps all his emotions under lock and key. Tell me, my dear, if you feel yourself capable of shewing me that confidence which a father has a right to expect of a good son, and if you can promise to be perfectly open and unreserved towards me?


I promise that I will die rather than tell you a falsehood.


That’s just like him. I have succeeded in inspiring him with the utmost horror of untruthfulness.


That’s all very well, my dear madam, but you might have pursued a still better course, and one which would have been still more conducive to his happiness.


What is that?


I will tell you. It was necessary to make him detest a lie; you should have rather endeavoured to make him a lover of the truth by displaying it to him in all its native beauty. This is the only way to make him lovable, and love is the sole bestower of happiness in this world.


But isn’t it the same thing not to lie and to tell the truth,


Certainly not; there is a great difference--for to avoid lying you have only to hold your tongue; and do you think that comes to the same thing as speaking the truth? You must open your mind to me, my son, and tell me all your thoughts, even if you blush in the recital. I will teach you how to blush, and soon you will have nothing to fear in laying open all your thoughts and deeds. When we know each other a little longer we shall see how we agree together. You must understand that I cannot look upon you as my son until I see cause to love you, and I cannot have you call me father till you treat me as the best friend you have. You may be quite sure that I shall find a way to discover your thoughts, however cleverly you try to hide them. If I find you deceitful and suspicious I shall certainly entertain no regard for you. As soon as I have finished my business at Amsterdam we will set out for Paris. I am leaving the Hague to-morrow, and on my return I hope to find you instructed by your mother in a system of morality more consonant with my views, and more likely to lead to your happiness.


Why are you crying? it is silly to cry.


Would you like to come to Paris, too?


Oh, yes! But mamma must come too, as she would die without me.


What would you do if I told you to go?


I would obey you, mamma, but how could I exist away from you?


If you are really my friend, you will give me some proof of your friendship.


And what proof do you want, my dear?


I want you to come and sup with me to-morrow.


I can’t, Sophie dear, for I have just said no to your mother, and she would be offended if I granted you what I had refused her.


Oh, no! she wouldn’t; it was she who told me to ask you just now.


but on the condition, that you give me a plain meal, and one bottle of chambertin only, for you are not too well off.


I know that, but mamma says that you pay for everything.


I want to know, if your sword has as sharp a point as your tongue.


You are wrong to take my jests in such bad part, however, I apologize to you.


No apologies; look to yourself.


Wait till to-morrow, you will be cooler then, but if you still wish it I will give you satisfaction in the midst of the billiard-room.


The only satisfaction you can give me is to fight; I want to kill you.


I’m not dead yet. I want to kill you.


What are you doing Esther, dear?


An arithmetical problem.


Do you like problems?


I am passionately fond of anything which contains difficulties and offers curious results.


I will give you something which will please you.


Those who know it cannot teach it to anyone.


How did you learn it, then?


From a precious manuscript I inherited from my father.


Sell it me.


I have burnt it; and I am not empowered to communicate the secret to anyone before I reach the age of fifty.


Why fifty?


I don’t know; but I do know that if I communicated it to anyone before that age I should run the risk of losing it myself. The elementary spirit who is attached to the oracle would leave it.


How do you know that?


I saw it so stated in the manuscript I have spoken of.


Then you are able to discover all secrets?


Yes, or I should be if the replies were not sometimes too obscure to be understood.


As it does not take much time, will you be kind enough to get me an answer to another question?


With pleasure; you can command me in anything not forbidden by my familiar spirit.


Who loves me most in Amsterdam?


She will attract any man who has sufficient sense to appreciate her.


You appreciate her, then?


I worship her. Then embrace her. I have got through all my business, and the rest of my day is at your disposal. I have known from my childhood that there is such a science as the one you profess, and I was acquainted with a Jew who by its aid made an immense fortune. He, like you, said that, under pain of losing the secret, it could only be communicated to one person, but he put off doing so so long that at last it was too late, for a high fever carried him off in a few days. I hope you will not do as the Jew did; but in the meanwhile allow me to say that if you do not draw a profit from this treasure, you do not know what it really is.


You call this knowledge of mine a treasure, and yet you possess one far more excellent,


We will discuss that again. Yes, sir, I call your science a treasure.


But the answers of the oracle are often very obscure.


Obscure! The answers my daughter received are as clear as day.


Apparently, she is fortunate in the way she frames her questions; for on this the reply depends.


After dinner we will try if I am so fortunate--at least, if you will be so kind as to help me.


I can refuse you nothing, as I consider father and daughter as one being.


Have you ever been deceived by it?


Often.


Nearly eighteen years,


I haven’t time. Do you like being at Amsterdam better than Venice?


Alas, no! for if I were in my own country I should not be following this dreadful trade.


How old were you when you left Venice.


I was only fourteen and lived happily with my father and mother, who now may have died of grief.


Who seduced you?


A rascally footman.


In what part of Venice did you live?


I did not live in Venice, but at Friuli, not far off.


I see, my friends, that something has happened to you. If my presence is a restraint, treat me without ceremony, and bid me go.


It’s not so great an ill-hap after all; I have enough money left to bear the loss patiently.


If I may ask the question, what is the nature of your loss?


I have lost a green pocket-book containing a good deal of money, which if I had been wise I would have left behind, as I did not require it till to-morrow.


And you don’t know where you lost it?


It must have been in the street, but I can’t imagine how it can have happened. It contained bills of exchange for large amounts, and of course they don’t matter, as I can stop payment of them, but there were also notes of the Bank of England for heavy sums, and they are gone, as they are payable to the bearer. Let us give thanks to God, my dear child, that it is no worse, and pray to Him to preserve to us what remains, and above all to keep us in good health. I have had much heavier losses than this, and I have been enabled not only to bear the misfortune but to make up the loss. Let us say no more about the matter.


With all my heart,


We will do as you suggest. Shall I ask where my father lost his pocket-book?


Why not? It’s a plain question: write it down.


We shall find it, we shall find it, papa!


I hope so, too, my dear, that answer is really very consoling.


Yes, there is certainly ground for hope, but the oracle will be dumb to all questions.


Dumb! Why?


I was going to say it will be dumb if you do not give me as many kisses as you have given your father.


Oh, then I will soon make it speak! Where is the pocket-book?


Come, my dear Esther, let us go and test the truth of the oracle.


I hope to be of service to you in the matter, but as I shall often want to speak to you, you must come and live in our house, which you must look upon as your own.


My presence will be a restraint on you. I shall be a trouble.


Ask Esther.


Do you love me?


Dearly, and I will do all in my power to shew how well I love you, if you will love me in return.


As soon as you come and live with us, you must look out for a good opportunity for asking my hand of my father. You need not be afraid he will refuse you, but the first thing for you to do is to move into our house.


My dear little wife! I will come to-morrow.


What is that, papa dear?


I have decided to take the whole risk--amounting to three hundred thousand florins--of the ship which is thought to have gone down. They will call me mad, but they themselves will be the madmen; which is what I should be if, after the proof we have had, I doubted the oracle any more.


My dear sir, you make me frightened. I have told you that I have been often deceived by the oracle.


That must have been, my dear fellow, when the reply was obscure, and you did not get at the real sense of it; but in the present case there is no room, for doubt. I shall make three million florins, or, if the worst comes to the worse, my loss won’t ruin me. If the oracle does lie this time, I shall be none the less your friend.


I am glad to hear it, but as this is a matter of the utmost importance, let me consult the oracle a second time before you risk your three hundred thousand florins.


In a matter of this kind neither fear nor hesitate. Your repentance would be too hard for you to bear.


I have insured the vessel from Madeira to the mouth of the Texel for a trifle, and so, you may count from this moment on the tenth part of the profit, which I owe entirely to you. You are now rich enough, to set up for yourself amongst us, and you are positively certain to make an enormous fortune in a short time merely by making use of your cabala. I will be your agent; let us live together, and if you like my daughter as she likes you, you can call yourself my son as soon as you please.


but,


to succeed thus you must have persuaded them that peace was on the point of being concluded.


By no means,


so far from my persuading them, they are of the opposite opinion; but all the same I may tell you that peace is really imminent.


If you like to give me that assurance in writing,


I will make you a present of fifty thousand florins’ worth of diamonds.


Well,


the French ambassador is of the same opinion as myself; but I don’t think the certainty is sufficiently great as yet for you to risk your diamonds upon it.


I know very well why,


How long have you been in Paris?


I have only just stepped out of my chaise.


Then go to Versailles. You will find the Duc de Choiseul and the comptroller-general there. You have been wonderfully successful, go and get your meed of praise and come and see me afterwards. Tell the duke that Voltaire’s appointment to be a gentleman-in-ordinary to the king is ready.


Corneman tells me that you have been doing wonders in Holland; but I see more in the matter than he does, as I am quite certain that you have taken over the twenty millions yourself. The funds have risen, and a hundred millions at least will be in circulation in the course of the next week. You must not be offended at my shabby present, for, of course, twelve thousand francs are nothing to you. You must look upon them as a little token of friendship. I am going to tell my servants to close all the doors, for I am too glad to see you not to want to have you all to myself. I will send him myself to Viar, where my nephews are. What is his name? Where is he? I know well what this boy is, I long to see him. Why did you not alight from your journey at my house? Does the dear lad speak French? While I am arranging for his going to school you must really let him come and live with me.


We will discuss that question on the day after tomorrow, madam.


Oh, how I wish the day after to-morrow was here!


My dear friend. I know that you have achieved a wonderful success in Holland, and I congratulate you.


I will be with you at supper, and then we can talk at our ease.


for, we have always been fond of you.


I fancy your mother has kept her fondness for me very much to herself,


We won’t say anything about that. We learnt all the circumstances of your wonderful flight from a letter of sixteen pages you wrote to M. Memmo. We trembled with joy and shuddered with fear as we read it.


How did you know I have been in Holland?


M. de la Popeliniere told us about it yesterday.


My advice to you is, to get yourself naturalized before it becomes generally known that you have made half a million of money.


Half a million! I only wish I had!


You must have made that at the lowest calculation.


On the contrary, I give you my assurance, that if my claim for brokerage is not allowed, the transaction will prove absolutely ruinous to me.


Ah! no doubt you are right to take that tone. Meanwhile, everyone wants to make your acquaintance, for France is deeply indebted to you. You have caused the funds to recover in a very marked degree.


But everybody says that you have made two hundred thousand florins by it.


That would not be so bad; half a million of francs would be a fair foundation on which to build a fortune; but I can assure your excellence that there is not a word of truth in the report. I defy anyone to prove it; and till some substantial proof is offered, I think I can lay claim to brokerage.


True, true. Go to the comptroller-general and state your views to him.


I happen to know, that you have bills of exchange to the amount of a hundred thousand crowns payable to yourself.


Certainly, but that money has no connection with my mission, as I can prove to you by referring you to M. d’Afri. I have in my head an infallible project for increasing the revenue by twenty millions, in a manner which will cause no irritation.


You don’t say so! Communicate your plan, and I promise to get you a pension of a hundred thousand francs, and letters of nobility as well, if you like to become a Frenchman.


I will think it over.


She bowed to me as soon as she saw me, and on my approaching her she told me that I was an able financier, and that the “gentlemen below” could not appreciate my merits. She had not forgotten what I had said to her eight years before in the theatre at Fontainebleau. I replied that all good gifts were from above, whither, with her help, I hoped to attain.


My niece, found herself obliged to go into a convent; and from this vantage ground she is pleading against her husband, with the aid of a barrister, who will be responsible for the costs. However, to win our case, we require the evidence of yourself, Count Tiretta, and other servants who witnessed the scene at the inn.


The lady, though she was not over fond of me, received me with great politeness. we all know that diamonds have the strange power of fascination, and that they form an excellent substitute for virtue!


She took the place in my heart where Esther had reigned a week before, but I freely confess that Esther yielded only because she was away. As to my attachment to Sylvia’s daughter, it was of such a nature as not to hinder me falling in love with any other woman who chanced to take my fancy. In the libertine’s heart love cannot exist without substantial food, and women who have had some experience of the world are well aware of this fact. The youthful Baletti was a beginner, and so knew nothing of these things.


Oh, yes, well enough for me to pay my clerks’ salaries.


I made him sleep with me, but I shall be obliged to deprive myself of this privilege for the future, unless he promises to be more discreet. We shall have the Comte de St. Germain, to dinner. I know he amuses you, and I like you to enjoy yourself in my house.


For that, madam, your presence is all I need; nevertheless, I thank you for considering me.


I melted down, small diamonds weighing twenty-four carats, and obtained this one large one weighing twelve.


I have come to the ball, with one of my sisters, my elder brother, and M. Farsetti. I left them to go into a box and change my domino.


They must feel very uneasy.


I dare say they do, but I am not going to take pity on them till the end of the ball.


I heard at Versailles, my dear mademoiselle, that you are going to marry M. de la Popeliniere.


So they say. My mother wishes me to do so, and the old financier fancies he has got me in his talons already; but he makes a mistake, as I will never consent to such a thing.


He is old, but he is very rich.


He is very rich and very generous, for he promises me a dowry of a million if I become a widow without children; and if I had a son he would leave me all his property.


You wouldn’t have much difficulty in complying with the second alternative.


I shall never have anything to do with his money, for I should never make my life miserable by a marriage with a man whom I do not love, while I do love another.


Another! Who is the fortunate mortal to whom you have given your heart’s treasure?


I do not know if my loved one is fortunate. My lover is a Venetian, and my mother knows of it; but she says that I should not be happy, that he is not worthy of me.


Your mother is a strange woman, always crossing your affections.


I cannot be angry with her. She may possibly be wrong, but she certainly loves me. She would rather that I should marry M. Farsetti, who would be very glad to have me, but I detest him.


Has he made a declaration in terms?


He has, and all the marks of contempt I have given him seem to have no effect.


He clings hard to hope; but the truth is you have fascinated him.


Possibly, but I do not think him susceptible of any tender or generous feeling. He is a visionary; surly, jealous, and envious in his disposition. When he heard me expressing myself about you in the manner you deserve, he had the impudence to say to my mother before my face that she ought not to receive you.


He deserves that I should give him a lesson in manners, but there are other ways in which he may be punished. I shall be delighted to serve you in any way I can.


Alas! if I could only count on your friendship I should be happy.


But, it’s Friday today, and you will have to fast, though, after all, the fish is very good. Dinner is not ready yet. You had better go and see my daughter, who is still a-bed.


How is this, sweet lie-a-bed, not up yet?


Yes, I am staying in bed partly because I feel lazy, and partly because I am freer here.


I was afraid you were not quite well.


Nor am I. However, we will say no more about that now. I am just going to take some soup, as those who foolishly establish the institution of fasting were not polite enough to ask my opinion on the subject. It does not agree with my health, and I don’t like it, so I am not going to get up even to sit at table, though I shall thus deprive myself of your society. This fatal letter, which you called ‘The Phoenix,’ has shaped my life and may prove the cause of my death. Alas! I fell in love with this imaginary being, and feeling certain that such an one must exist I set myself to look for him. After six months I thought I had found him. I gave him my heart, I received his, we loved each other fondly. But for the last four months we have been separated, and during the whole time I have only had one letter from him. Yet I must not blame him, for I know he cannot help it. Such, is my sorry fate: I can neither hear from him nor write to him.


I have no doubt truly, ‘Astra influunt, non cogunt.’


I am writing this at two o’clock in the morning. I am weary and in need of rest, but a burden on my soul deprives me of sleep. The secret I am about to tell you will no longer be so grievous when I have confided in you; I shall feel eased by placing it in your breast. I am with child, and my situation drives me to despair. I was obliged to write to you because I felt I could not say it. Give me a word in reply.


I will be with you at eleven o’clock.


Yes, she can count on me. Her mishap makes her all the dearer to me. You are going out, are you? Where are you going?


I am going to mass at the Church of the Augustinians.


Is this a saint’s day?


Have you read my letter?


Yes, of course; here it is, burn it yourself.


No, keep it, and do so with your own hands.


I see you trust in me, and I assure you I will not abuse your trust.


I am sure you will not. I am four months with child; I can doubt it no longer, and the thought maddens me!


Comfort yourself, we will find some way to get over it.


Yes; I leave all to you. You must procure an abortion.


Never, dearest! that is a crime!


Alas! I know that well; but it is not a greater crime than suicide, and there lies my choice: either to destroy the wretched witness of my shame, or to poison myself. For the latter alternative I have everything ready. You are my only friend, and it is for you to decide which it shall be. Speak to me! Are you angry that I have not gone to the Chevalier Farsetti before you?


Laying the question of crime on one side, abortion is out of our power. If the means employed are not violent they are uncertain, and if they are violent they are dangerous to the mother. I will never risk becoming your executioner; but reckon on me, I will not forsake you. Your honour is as dear to me as your life. Be calm, and henceforth think that the peril is mine, not yours. Make up your mind that I shall find some way of escape, and that there will be no need to cut short that life, to preserve which I would gladly die. And allow me to say that when I read your note I felt glad, I could not help it, that at such an emergency you chose me before all others to be your helper. You will find that your trust was not given in vain, for no one loves you as well as I, and no one is so fain to help you. Later you shall begin to take the remedies I will get for you, but I warn you to be on your guard, for this is a serious matter--one of life and death. Possibly you have already told somebody about it--your maid or one of your sisters?


I have not told anybody but you, not even the author of my shame. I tremble when I think what my mother would do and say if she found out my situation. I am afraid she will draw her conclusions from my shape.


So far there is nothing to be observed in that direction, the beauty of the outline still remains intact.


But every day increases its size, and for that reason we must be quick in what we do. You must find a surgeon who does not know my name and take me to him to be bled.


I will not run the risk, it might lead to the discovery of the whole affair. I will bleed you myself; it is a simple operation.


How grateful I am to you! I feel as if you had already brought me from death to life. What I should like you to do would be to take me to a midwife’s. We can easily go without attracting any notice at the first ball at the opera.


Yes, sweetheart, but that step is not necessary, and it might lead to our betrayal.


No, no, in this great town there are midwives in every quarter, and we should never be known; we might keep our masks on all the time. Do me this kindness. A midwife’s opinion is certainly worth having.


I don’t doubt it for a moment, but would you tell me what are those other ways!


I should tell the lady how to destroy the foetus.


If madame decides on taking your advice, I will bring you the money for drugs to-morrow.


Quick!


Would you like an omelette?


Very well.


Oh, I should like an omelette so much!


Alas!


The emotions of love, should yield to those of honour, and your honour as well as mine require us to continue friends. What I would have done for love I will now do for devoted friendship, and for the future I will die rather than make another attempt to gain those favours of which I thought you deemed me worthy.


Non tollo vectorem, nisi navi plena.


I know my own character, and without undue presumption, I think I may say that I am worthy of a woman’s love. Naturally, after your convincing me that you think differently, I feel humiliated and indignant. Do you know what effect such feelings have on the heart?


Alas! I know too well. Their effect is to inspire one with contempt for her who gave rise to them.


That is going too far, at least in my case. My indignation was merely succeeded by a renewed confidence in myself, and a determination to be revenged.


To be revenged! In what way?


I wish to compel you to esteem me, by proving to you that I am lord of myself, and can pass by with indifference what I once so ardently desired. I do not know whether I have succeeded yet, but I may say that I can now contemplate your charms without desiring to possess them.


You are making a mistake, for I never ceased to esteem you, and I esteemed you as much a week ago as I do to-day. Nor for a moment I did think you capable of leaving me to my fate as a punishment for having refused to give way to your transports, and I am glad that I read your character rightly.


I know of an infallible method, the aroph of Paracelsus to wit, and it is easy of application. Do you wish to know more about it?


This mixture, moistening several times a day the opening of the womb, weakens it to such a degree that the foetus is expelled by its own weight.


If you wish. I will give you the manuscript where all that I have said is set down plainly. I will also shew you what Boerhaeve thinks about it. The aroph, is the most powerful agent for bringing on menstruation.


And that is incompatible with the state I am now in; so the aroph should procure me a secret deliverance. Do you know its composition?


Certainly; it is quite a simple preparation composed of certain ingredients which are well known to me, and which have to be made into a paste with butter or virgin honey. But this composition must touch the orifice of the uterus at a moment of extreme excitement.


But in that case it seems to me that the person who gives the dose must be in love.


Certainly, unless he is a mere animal requiring only physical incentives.


The method seems to me an excellent one, but I do not think I ought to make use of it.


Two hours at most, if I succeed in procuring English saffron, which Paracelsus prefers to the Oriental saffron.


I fancy I know it better than anyone,


What is it good for?


That is too vague a question.


What does the word mean?


It is an Arabic word, of which I do not know the meaning; but no doubt Paracelsus would tell us.


The word, is neither Arabic nor Hebrew, nor, indeed, of any language at all. It is a contraction which conceals two other words.


Can you tell us what they are?


Certainly; aro comes from aroma, and ph is the initial of philosophorum.


Did you get that out of Paracelsus?


No, sir; I saw it in Boerhaave.


That’s good. Boerhaave says nothing of the sort, but I like a man who quotes readily.


Laugh, sir, if you like, but here is the test of what I say; accept the wager if you dare. I don’t quote falsely, like persons who talk of words being Arabic.


He has gone away in a rage, and I would wager anything that he will not come back again.


I wager he will, he will honour us with his agreeable company before to-morrow’s sun has set.


Would you like me, to invite your mother and the rest of you to dine with me?


I shall be delighted. It will be a forbidden pleasure to me before long.


come and see her early next morning, as she wanted to speak to me on matters of importance. She tells me that I must sign the contract, and that the dressmaker will soon be coming to take my measure for my wedding dress. To that I cannot consent, for a dressmaker would certainly see my situation. I will die rather than confide in my mother, or marry before I am delivered.


There is always time enough to talk about dying, when all other means have failed. I think you could easily get rid of la Popeliniere, who is a man of honour. Tell him how you are situated, and he will act without compromising you, as his own interest is sufficiently involved to make him keep the secret.


But should I be much better off then? And how about my mother?


Your mother? Oh! I will make her listen to reason.


You know not what she is like. The honour of the family would oblige her to get me out of the way, but before that she would make me suffer torments to which death is preferable by far. But why have you said no more about the aroph? Is it not all a jest? It would be a very cruel one.


On the contrary, I believe it to be infallible, though I have never been a witness of its effects; but what good is it for me to speak to you? You can guess that a delicacy of feeling has made me keep silence. Confide in your lover, who is at Venice; write him a letter, and I will take care that it is given into his hands, in five or six days, by a sure messenger. If he is not well off I will give you whatever money may be needed for him to come without delay, and save your honour and life by giving you the aroph.


This idea is a good one and the offer generous on your part, but it is not feasible, as you would see if you knew more about my circumstances. Do not think any more of my lover; but supposing I made up my mind to receive the aroph from another, tell me how it could be done. Even if my lover were in Paris, how could he spend an entire week with me, as he would have to? And how could he give me the dose five or six times a day for a week? You see yourself that this remedy is out of the question.


So you would give yourself to another, if you thought that would save your honour?


Certainly, if I were sure that the thing would be kept secret. But where shall I find such a person? Do you think he would be easy to find, or that I can go and look for him?


Cruel girl, my lot is more wretched than yours.


You are cruel and unjust. I see, for my part, that you love me no longer since you wish to take advantage of my cruel necessity to gain a triumph over me. This is an act of revenge not worthy of a man of feeling.


Since you know, dearest, that I worship you, how can you think me capable of revenging myself on you? Do you think that I can bear to hear you say that since your lover cannot help you you do not know where to look for help?


But after refusing you my favours, could I ask this office of you with any decency? Have I not good reason to be afraid that as I refused to take pity on your love so you would refuse to take pity on my necessity?


Do you think that a passionate lover ceases to love on account of a refusal which may be dictated by virtue? Let me tell you all I think. I confess I once thought you did not love me, but now I am sure of the contrary; and that your heart would have led you to satisfy my love, even if you had not been thus situated. I may add that you no doubt feel vexed at my having any doubts of your love.


You have interpreted my feelings admirably. But how we are to be together with the necessary freedom from observation remains to be seen.


Do not be afraid. Now I am sure of your consent, it will not be long before I contrive some plan. In the meanwhile I will go and make the aroph.


But, you have just come out of it.


Yes, but I only went in and came out again.


Then I will wait till the coast is clear.


For goodness’ sake, sir, do not wait!


Ah, you rascal! I see what is going on. Well I will say nothing about it, but I must see her.


She won’t come out, for she heard your steps and shut herself in.


She knows me, does she?


Yes, and you know her.


All right, get along with you! I won’t say anything about it. I will give you one all to yourself, if you will tell me the story


But. I should have to go through Madelaine’s room to get to the garret.


In that case, dearest, we must win the girl over.


Tell her my secret?


Just so.


Oh, I couldn’t!


I will see to it; the golden key opens all doors.


He is a sharp lad, and I think I can answer for him. However, you may leave that to me.


That’s not likely, and besides, we can’t do without it, for how am I to give you the aroph in the dark?


Very good, we can put it out afterwards.


You see, that I do not need rest, and I think we had better set to again.


Is it possible, that you do not see how degrading your thanks are to me? They prove that you do not love me, or that if you love me, you think my love less strong than yours.


Sweetheart, it seems to me that what we have been about is much more likely to create than to destroy, and if the aperture had not been hermetically closed we should doubtless have given the little prisoner a companion.


I am delighted, to find you here, it is quite a piece of luck. I am going to hear this novel composition, and have two reserved seats. Will you do me the honour of accepting one?


M. Casanova, be good enough to give me your company for an hour. I want to ask you two or three questions which can only be solved by your cabala. I hope you will oblige me, as I am, very anxious to know the answers, but we must be quick as I have an engagement to sup in Paris. M. Casanova; what is the matter with you? You are not in your usual state of equanimity, and if I am not mistaken you are dreading some dire event. Or perhaps you are on the eve of taking some important resolution? I am not inquisitive, but if I can be of any service to you at Court, make use of me, and be sure that I will do my best. If necessary, I will go to Versailles to-morrow morning. I know all the ministers. Confide in me your troubles, if I cannot lighten them I can at least share them, and be sure I will keep your counsel.


Yes madam. I am indeed critically situated, may be on the verge of ruin, but your kindness has calmed my soul and made me once more acquainted with hope. You shall hear how I am placed. I am going to trust you with a secret of the most delicate description, but I can rely on your being as discreet as you are good. And if after hearing my story you deign to give me your advice, I promise to follow it and never to divulge its author.


I am expected at Madame de la Marque’s, and I must go, as I am to meet the Bishop of Montrouge, to whom I want to speak, but I hope I shall eventually be able to help you. Come here the day after tomorrow, you will find me alone; above all, do nothing before you see me. Farewell.


My dear sir. I have succeeded in my endeavours on your behalf, and it is now for you to keep secret my share in the matter. After I had pondered over the case of conscience you submitted to me, I went to the convent of C-- where the abbess is a friend of mine, and I entrusted her with the secret, relying on her discretion. We agreed that she should receive the young lady in her convent, and give her a good lay-sister to nurse her through her confinement. Now you will not deny, that the cloisters are of some use. Your young friend must go by herself to the convent with a letter for the abbess, which I will give her, and which she must deliver to the porter. She will then be admitted and lodged in a suitable chamber. She will receive no visitors nor any letters that have not passed through my hands. The abbess will bring her answers to me, and I will pass them on to you. You must see that her only correspondent must be yourself, and you must receive news of her welfare only through me. On your hand in writing to her you must leave the address to be filled in by me. I had to tell the abbess the lady’s name, but not yours as she did not require it. Tell your young friend all about our plans, and when she is ready come and tell me, and I will give you the letter to the abbess. Tell her to bring nothing but what is strictly necessary, above all no diamonds or trinkets of any value. You may assure her that the abbess will be friendly, will come and see her every now and then, will give her proper books--in a word, that she will be well looked after. Warn her not to confide in the laysister who will attend on her. I have no doubt she is an excellent woman, but she is a nun, and the secret might leak out. After she is safely delivered, she must go to confession and perform her Easter duties, and the abbess will give her a certificate of good behaviour; and she can then return to her mother, who will be too happy to see her to say anything more about the marriage, which, of course, she ought to give as her reason of her leaving home. My dear abbess--The young lady who will give you this letter is the same of whom we have spoken. She wishes to spend three of four months under your protection, to recover her peace of mind, to perform her devotions, and to make sure that when she returns to her mother nothing more will be said about the marriage, which is partly the cause of her temporary separation from her family.


I will set out, the day after to-morrow, at the hour agreed on.


Is she ill?


I know nothing about her.


Has she gone by herself?


I know nothing at all about it, sir, but they say you know all. I beg of you to leave me.


Madam. I am your humble servant; but first of all pray be seated.


I am come here, to ask you to give me my daughter if she be in your power, or to tell me where she is.


Your daughter, madam? I know nothing about her! Do you think me capable of a crime?


I do not accuse you of abducting her; I have not come here to reproach you nor to utter threats, I have only come to ask you to shew yourself my friend. Help me to get my daughter again this very day; you will give me my life. I am certain that you know all. You were her only confidant and her only friend; you passed hours with her every day; she must have told you of her secret. Pity a bereaved mother! So far no one knows of the facts; give her back to me and all shall be forgotten, and her honour saved.


Madam, I feel for you acutely, but I repeat that I know nothing of your daughter. You insolent scoundrel! What do you mean by talking of me like that?


Everybody is certain that you know all about it.


Then they are impudent fools, like you. Get out of my house this instant and wait for me, I will be with you in a quarter of an hour.


You ought to be more considerate towards a lover, for he would marry my daughter now, even after what she has done.


I am aware of the fact, madam, and I have no doubt that his courtship was one of the chief reasons which made your daughter resolve to leave her home, for she hated him even more than she hated the fermier-general.


She has behaved very badly, but I promise not to say anything more about marrying her. But I am sure you know all about it, as you gave her fifty louis, without which she could not have done anything.


Nay, not so.


Do not deny it, sir; here is the evidence--a small piece of your letter to her.


I hope that these wretched louis will convince you that I am ready to sacrifice everything, my life if need be, to assure you of my affection. I am far from disavowing this evidence of my esteem for your daughter, but to justify myself I am obliged to tell you a fact which I should have otherwise kept secret--namely, that I furnished your daughter with this sum to enable her to pay your son’s debts, for which he thanked me in a letter which I can shew you.


My son?


Your son, madam.


I will make you an ample atonement for my suspicions.


That’s not a likely tale,


I assure you, that I always urged your daughter to marry M. de la Popeliniere.


How can you have the face to say that, when you talk in the letter of your affection?


I do not deny it. I loved her, and I was proud of my affection for her. This affection, of whatever sort it may have been (and that is not this gentleman’s business), was the ordinary topic of conversation between us. If she had told me that she was going to leave her home, I should either have dissuaded her or gone with her, for I loved her as I do at this moment; but I would never have given her money to go alone.


My dear Casanova, if you will help me to find her I shall believe in your innocence.


I shall be delighted to aid you, and I promise to commence the quest to-day.


As soon as you have any news, come and tell me.


You may trust me to do so,


Do you really want the police to discover, where the pretty Englishwoman is to be found?


Certainly.


I have been more fortunate than you, and if you will come with me to the place where my daughter has gone, and will join me in persuading her to return, all will be well.


Certainly. I shall be most happy to accompany you.


You are wrong, to neglect him.


All the world’s upside down! Jupiter has donned the gown--the King. Venus mounts the council stair--the Pompadour. Plutus trifles with the fair--M. de Boulogne. Mercury in mail is drest--Marechal de Richelieu. Mighty Mars has turned a priest--the Duc de Clermont, abbé of St. Germain-des-pres.


Your highness will fare but badly, however, I will tell them to lay another knife and fork.


Who is going to dine with us? I thought we were to be alone.


The third party, is my other self--a being who is neither my wife, nor my mistress, nor my servant-maid, nor my mother, nor my daughter, but yet personates all these characters at once.


I daresay, my dear fellow, I daresay; but as I came to dine with you alone, I will not dine with your other self, but will leave you with all the rest of you to keep your company.


which, may some day prove a thorn in his side.


I had, in my desk a seal with the arms of the house of Aranda, and happening to take it up I shewed it him as we shew trinkets to children to amuse them, but as soon as he saw it he burst out,


How came you to have my arms?


Your arms! I got this seal from the Comte d’Aranda; how can you prove that you are a scion of that race?


Do not ask me, madam; my birth is a secret I can reveal to no one.


Will you kindly inform me, how you can be so foolish as to call yourself the Comte d’Aranda?


I know it is foolish, but leave me my title; it is of service to me here and gains me respect.


It is an imposition I cannot wink at, as it may be fraught with serious results, and may do harm to both of us. I should not have thought that at your age you would be capable of such a knavish trick. I know you did it out of stupidity, but after a certain limit stupidity becomes criminal; and I cannot see how I am to remedy your fault without disgracing you in the eyes of Madame d’Urfe.


I had rather the shame of being sent back to my mother than the shame of confessing to Madame d’Urfe that I had imposed on her; and I could not bear to stay here if I had to give up my name.


And now tell me--and take care to tell the truth--what sort of feelings does Viar’s daughter entertain for you?


I think, papa, that this is a case in which the reserve commended by yourself, as well as by mother, would be appropriate.


Yes, that sort of answer tells me a good deal, but I think you are rather too knowing for your age. And you may as well observe that when you are called upon for a confession, reserve is out of place, and it’s a confession I require from you.


Well, papa, Viar’s daughter is very fond of me, and she shews her love in all sorts of ways.


And do you love her?


Oh, yes!


Is she much with you in the morning?


She is with me the whole day.


She is present when you go to bed?


Yes, she helps me to undress.


Nothing else?


I do not care to tell you.


This is an evident case of libel, at least, if she can’t prove the truth of her allegations. My advice to you is to take the matter before the criminal lieutenant, who will be able to give you the satisfaction you require.


I have asked you to call upon me in the interests of both of us, as in your position our interests are inseparable. If you are innocent of the charge which has been brought against you, you are quite right to appeal to me; but before proceedings begin, you should tell me the whole truth. I am ready to forget my position as judge, and to give you my help, but you must see yourself that to prove the other side guilty of slander, you must prove yourself innocent. What I want from you is an informal and strictly confidential declaration, for the case against you is a serious one, and of such a kind as to require all your efforts to wipe off this blot upon your honour. Your enemies will not respect your delicacy of feeling. They will press you so hard that you will either be obliged to submit to a shameful sentence, or to wound your feelings of honour in proving your innocence. You see I am confiding in you, for in certain cases honour seems so precious a thing to me that I am ready to defend it with all the power of the law. Pay me back, then, in the same coin, trust in me entirely, tell me the whole story without any reserves, and you may rely upon my good offices. All will be well if you are innocent, for I shall not be the less a judge because I am your friend; but if you are guilty I am sorry for you, for I warn you that I shall be just.


The midwife, is absolutely unknown to me. She is most likely an abandoned woman, who with her worthy companion wants to cheat me of my money.


I should be delighted to think so, but admitting the fact, see how chance favours her, and makes it a most difficult thing for you to prove your innocence. The young lady disappeared three months ago. She was known to be your intimate friend, you called upon her at all hours; you spent a considerable time with her the day before she disappeared, and no one knows what has become of her; but everyone’s suspicions point at you, and paid spies are continually dogging your steps. The midwife sent me a requisition yesterday by her counsel, Vauversin. She says that the pregnant lady you brought to her house is the same whom Madame X. C. V. is searching for. She also says that you both wore black dominoes, and the police have ascertained that you were both at the ball in black dominoes on the same night as that on which the midwife says you came to her house; you are also known to have left the ball-room together. All this, it is true, does not constitute full proof of your guilt, but it makes one tremble for your innocence.


What cause have I to tremble?


There can be no hesitation in the matter. We must make a confidant of M. de Sartine, and I will speak to him myself to-day without fail. I have concealed nothing, he knows that she is on the eve of her confinement, and that you are not the father, which speaks highly for your generosity. I told him that as soon as the confinement was over, and the young lady had recovered her health, she would return to her mother, though she would make no confession, and that the child should be well looked after. You have now nothing to fear, and can calm yourself; but as the case must go on you will be cited before the court the day after to-morrow. I advise you to see the clerk of the court on some pretext or other, and to make him accept a sum of money.


Either a love affair or a challenge, let’s see.


I have only a word to say. We will not be overheard here. The midwife is quite sure that you are the man who brought a pregnant lady to her, but she is vexed that you are accused of making away with her. Give her a hundred louis; she will then declare to the court that she has been mistaken, and your trouble will be ended. You need not pay the money till she has made her declaration; we will take your word for it. Come with me and talk it over with Vauversin. I am sure he will persuade you to do as I suggest. I know where to find him, follow me at some distance.


Very good, you go on, and I will follow.


The midwife, will call on you with a witness apparently with the intention of maintaining to your face that you are her man; but she won’t be able to recognize you. She will then proceed with the witness to the court, and will declare that she has made a mistake, and the criminal lieutenant will forthwith put an end to the proceedings. You will thus be certain of gaining your case against the lady’s mother. But the midwife wants a hundred louis badly.


You mean that the worthy woman rates her perjury at that price. Well, never mind, I will pay the money, and you may trust to my word; but I can’t do so before she has taken oath to her mistake before the court.


Very good, but you must first give me twenty-five louis to reimburse me for my costs and fees.


Certainly, if you will give me a formal receipt for the money.


though Madame X. C. V. was his client, he would let me know confidentially how best to put a stop to the proceedings.


I want to speak to M. Casanova.


I am he.


Then I have made a mistake, for which I hope you will forgive me.


Oh, sir! you are rich, do you buy the piece and let me have enough for a dress, which will make me happy.


I like your simplicity, and since it will make you happy, you shall have the dress.


I am going to get this little madcap married next Sunday; there will be a supper and a ball, and we shall be delighted if you will honour us with your presence. My name is Gilbert. I am comptroller of the Duc d’Elbeuf’s household.


All the same. I know you are longing to take it off. I know what love is and how impatient it makes one.


It’s very funny that everyone persists in thinking that I am in love, though I saw M. Baret for the first time only a week ago. Before then I was absolutely unconscious of his existence.


But why are you getting married in such a hurry without waiting till you know him better?


Because my father does everything in a hurry.


I suppose your husband is a very rich man?


No, but he may become rich. We are going to open a shop for silk stockings at the corner of the Rue St. Honore and the Rue des Prouveres, and I hope that you will deal with us, as we would serve you with the best.


I shall certainly do so--nay, I will be your first customer, if I have to wait at the door.


You are kind! M. Baret, this gentleman promises to be our first customer.


The gentleman is very good, and I am sure he will be satisfied, as my stockings are genuine silk.


I want to buy some stockings. Master and mistress are still in bed, so you had better come later on.


No, I will wait here. Stop a minute, go and get me some coffee; I will drink it in the shop.


I might go and get you some coffee, but I am not so silly as to leave you in the shop by yourself.


You are afraid I might steal something!


Well, one does hear of such things being done, and I don’t know you from Adam.


Very good; but I shall stay here all the same.


Go and tell my wife to come,


I never break my word, especially when such a charming lady is concerned!


She wanted me to take her, but I was afraid you might be offended.


Not at all, I should have been delighted. I think your wife a charming woman.


You are very kind to say so; but she’s young, she’s young.


I don’t think that’s any objection; and if she cares for the walk, bring her with you another time.


We have them in all sizes, go up to my wife’s room and try some on.


I will fancy I am your valet, and I will help you.


I shall be charmed, M. Baret, especially if you will stay to dinner.


You are to be congratulated on having such a kind husband; with a man like that your happiness is assured.


It is easy to say happiness, but enjoying it is a different thing. My husband’s health is so delicate that I can only consider myself as his nurse; and then he contracted heavy debts to set up in business which oblige us to observe the strictest economy. We came here on foot to save the twenty-four sous. We could live on the profits of the business, if there were no debts, but as it is everything goes to pay the interest, and our sales are not large enough to cover everything.


But you have plenty of customers, for whenever I pass I see the shop full of people.


These customers you see are idlers, crackers of bad jokes, and profligates, who come and make my head ache with their jests. They have not a penny to bless themselves with, and we dare not let them out of our sight for fear of their hands wandering. If we had cared to give them credit, our shop would have been emptied long ago. I am rude to them, in the hopes that they may leave me alone, but it’s of no use. Their impudence is astonishing. When my husband is in I retreat to my room, but he is often away, and then I am obliged to put up with them. And the scarcity of money prevents us from doing much business, but we are obliged to pay our workmen all the same. As far as I can see, we shall be obliged to dismiss them, as we shall soon have to meet several bills. Next Saturday we have got to pay six hundred francs, and we have only got two hundred.


I am surprised at your having all this worry in these early days of your marriage. I suppose your father knew about your husband’s circumstances; how about your dowry?


My dowry of six thousand francs has served, most of it, to stock the shop and to pay our debts. We have goods which would pay our debts three times over; but in bad times capital sunk is capital dead.


I am sorry to hear all this, as if peace is not made your situation will become worse, for as you go on your needs will become greater.


Yes, for when my husband is better we may have children.


What! Do you mean to say his health prevents him from making you a mother? I can’t believe it.


I don’t see how I can be a mother who am still a maid; not that I care much about the matter.


I shouldn’t have believed it! How can a man not in the agony of death feel ill beside you? He must be dead.


Well, he is not exactly dead, but he doesn’t shew many signs of life.


I will help you, dearest, to meet the bill on Saturday;


How was I to expect a refusal like this at a moment when I thought I saw my ardours reflected in your eyes?


Your eyes did not deceive you; but what would my husband say if he found me otherwise than as God has made me?


He can’t have left you untouched!


He really has done so. You can see for yourself if you like. Can I, then, give to you what appertains to the genius of the marriage-bed.


You are right, my angel; this fruit must be kept for a mouth unworthy to taste it. I pity and adore you. Come to my arms, abandon yourself to my love, and fear nothing. The fruit shall not be damaged; I will but taste the outer surface and leave no trace behind.


it must be confessed that it was very pretty and that she would like it if it were not so dear.


if she liked it it could not be too dear, and that I would pay.


they would make her happy,


I can let you have a cheaper pair and almost as fine,


little queen, she was as fair as a May morning,


She is Mdlle. de Boulainvilier, my niece.


How can you be so hard-hearted, as to refuse your charming niece a toy which would make her happy? Allow me to make her a present of them.


You may have the ear-rings, as this gentleman has been kind enough to give you such a present, and you should give him a kiss by way of thanks.


The ear-rings, will be only three louis.


How can you be such a cheat? You told me they were only two louis.


Nay, madam, I asked three.


That’s a lie, and I shall not allow you to rob this gentleman. Niece, put those ear-rings down; let the shopwoman keep them. You are a cheat,


And you are an old b----d. I know you well.


When will he do that?


To-morrow, if you go by the shop. Come and buy some stockings; I shall have a bad headache, and Baret will speak to you.


She is ill in bed, she wants a little country air.


If you have not fixed for any place, I shall be happy to put you up at Little Poland. I will go and urge her to come myself; in the meanwhile, M. Baret, will you pack me up a dozen pairs of stockings? The business is done, you will soon hear of it. You shall be well looked after, but you must excuse me if I do not keep you company--I have to attend to my business. M. Baret will be able to come and sleep with you every night, and start early enough in the morning to be in time for the opening of his shop.


Come, my dear, get up and put on a few clothes and we will take breakfast in my room.


My jewel, Baret thinks, or pretends to think, that he has done his duty as a husband; but he is no hand at the business, and I am disposed to put myself in your hands, and then there will be no doubt of my condition.


We shall thus, my sweet, be doing him a service, and the service shall be well done.


Cupid, might have gathered the fruit that Hymen could not taste. You are seventeen, and the pear has been ripe for two years at least.


Very true, but I have never had a lover.


Never?


I have been courted, but to no effect. My heart was ever silent. Possibly my father thought otherwise when I begged him, a month ago, to get me married soon.


Very likely, but as you were not in love, why were you in such a hurry?


I knew that the Duc d’Elbeuf would soon be coming to town, and that if he found me still single he would oblige me to become the wife of a man I detest, who would have me at any price.


Who is this man for whom you have such an aversion?


He is one of the duke’s pets, a monster who sleeps with his master.


Really! I did not know the duke had such tastes.


Oh yes; he is eighty-four, and he thinks himself a woman; he says he must have a husband.


That is very funny. And is this aspirant to your hand a handsome man?


I think him horrible; but everybody else thinks he is a fine man.


For the moment. I can neither command money nor bail.


Very good, then you will stay in prison. Very likely, it often happens like that; but it is rather difficult to prove.


Bring me writing materials, and have a trusty messenger at my disposal.


All you have to do, is to deposit half the sum demanded which I will give to the clerk of the court, and in a short time I can promise a decision in your favour and the restoration of your money.


Sir, you are a free man again, and a lady is waiting for you at the door in her carriage.


As soon as I was informed of your arrest. I went to the Fort l’Eveque, and on learning from the clerk what the affair was about, I deposited bonds to bail you out. If you are not in a position to have justice done you, Garnier will have to reckon with me before he takes the money I have deposited. But your first step should be to commence a criminal prosecution against your counsel, who has not only failed to put in your appeal but has robbed and deceived you.


I have made up my mind: I will have twenty-five thousand francs, or keep the matter before the courts till my dying day.


You can tell everyone, that peace is certain to be made in the course of the winter, and I will take care that you shall have what is due to you on your return to France.


A look in your face, tells me that the recognition has been mutual. I knew you directly in spite of the sixteen years that have passed since we saw each other at Vicenza. To-morrow you can tell everybody that we are friends, and that though I am not a prince I am really a count; here is my passport from the King of Naples, pray read it.


I congratulate you, on your change of employment, your new business is doubtless much better than the old.


I taught fencing, to save myself from dying of hunger, for my father was so hard a man that he would not give me the wherewithal to live, and I disguised my name so as not to disgrace it. On my father’s death I succeeded to the property, and at Rome I married the lady you have seen.


You had good taste, for she’s a pretty woman.


She is generally thought so, and it was a love match on my side.


This M. Silhouette, has served the king very badly. It is all very well to say that payments are only suspended for a year, but it is not believed. He has not called on me, though he says he is commissioned by the king to negotiate a loan of a hundred millions. When I am asked about him, I am obliged to say that I know nothing about him, for fear of compromising myself. Such a reply, as you can understand, is not likely to increase his chance of success, but that is his fault and not mine. Why has he not brought me a letter from the Duc de Choiseul or the Marquise de Pompadour? I take him to be an impostor, but I shall know something more about him in the course of ten days.


I told him, in my turn, all I knew of this truly eccentric individual. He was not a little surprised to hear that the king had given him an apartment at Chambord, but when I told him that the count professed to be able to make diamonds he laughed and said that in that case he would no doubt make the hundred millions.


You have anticipated me. I intended to have called on you. I suppose, my dear Casanova, that you have come to try what you can do for our Court, but you will find your task a difficult one, as the Exchange is highly offended at the late doings of that fool Silhouette. All the same I hope I shall be able to get my hundred millions. I have passed my word to my friend, Louis XV. (I may call him so), and I can’t disappoint him; the business will be done in the next three or four weeks.


I should think M. d’Afri might assist you.


I do not require his assistance. Probably I shall not even call upon him, as he might say he helped me. No, I shall have all the trouble, and I mean to have all the glory, too.


I presume you will be going to Court, where the Duke of Brunswick may be of service to you?


Why should I go to Court? As for the Duke of Brunswick, I do not care to know him. All I have got to do is to go to Amsterdam, where my credit is sufficiently good for anything. I am fond of the King of France; there’s not a better man in the kingdom.


Well, come and dine at the high table, the company is of the best and will please you.


You know I never eat; moreover, I never sit down at a table where I may meet persons who are unknown to me.


Then, my lord, farewell; we shall see each other again at Amsterdam.


I know him very slightly, but we happen to be staying at the same hotel.


He’s a regular black sheep, and his wife’s no better than he.


The famous Casanova is now in Holland.


Is he? I shall be glad to see him, and ask for an explanation which he will not like. I’ll ought to know him,


Nay, sir, you are mistaken; I am Casanova.


You are really very much mistaken if you think you are the only Casanova in the world.


I am a Venetian, sir,


Ah! then you are a good friend to France, as your republic is under French protection.


Perhaps, you will reply by begging my pardon for not knowing that there was only one Venice in the world.


You infernal liar!


It makes my life happy, for it gives me a power over my father, and assures me that he will never marry me to anyone but the man of my choice.


I am delighted that you extract the only good that can proceed from this idle science, namely, the power to guide persons devoid of strength of will. But your father must think that I taught you the secret?


Yes, he does; and he said, one day, that he would forgive me any sacrifices I might have made to obtain this precious secret from you.


He goes a little further than we did, my dearest Esther.


Yes, and I told him that I had gained it from you without any sacrifice, and that now I was a true Pythoness without having to endure the torments of the tripod; and I am sure that the replies you gave were invented by yourself.


But if that were so how could I have known where the pocket-book was, or whether the ship was safe?


You saw the portfolio yourself and threw it where it was discovered, and as for the vessel you spoke at random; but as you are an honest man, confess that you were afraid of the results. I am never so bold as that, and when my father asks me questions of that kind, my replies are more obscure than a sibyl’s. I don’t wish him to lose confidence in my oracle, nor do I wish him to be able to reproach me with a loss that would injure my own interests.


If your mistake makes you happy I shall leave you in it. You are really a woman of extraordinary talents--, you are quite unique.


I don’t want your compliments,


I want a sincere avowal of the truth.


I don’t think I can go as far as that.


Is it possible, for my daughter to obtain the answers of the oracle without your having taught her?


I always thought such a thing impossible till to-day, but Esther has convinced me that I was mistaken. I can teach the secret to no one without losing it myself, for the oath I swore to the sage who taught me forbids me to impart it to another under pain of forfeiture. But as your daughter has taken no such oath, having acquired it herself, she may be for all I know at perfect liberty to communicate the secret to anyone.


You must sow plentifully before you reap. Pluck not up the vine before the season of the vintage, for your vine is planted in a fruitful soil.


If you sell out you will repent, for there will be a new comptroller-general, who will pay all claims before another year has elapsed.


I am much obliged to you,


for having confirmed my reply, but confess that you lied to please me.


I confess, since that will please you, and I will even tell you that you have nothing more to learn.


You are a cruel man! But how could you reply that there would be another comptroller-general in a year’s time, and run the risk of compromising the oracle? I never dare to say things like that; I love the oracle too well to expose it to shame and confusion.


That shews that I do not invent the answers; but since the oracle has pronounced it I am willing to bet that Silhouette will be dismissed.


Your obstinacy drives me to despair, for I shall not rest till I know that I am as much a master of the cabala as you are, and yet you will not confess that you invent the answers yourself. For charity’s sake do something to convince me of the contrary.


I will think it over.


And pray what is that?


You owe me a revenge at the sword’s point, as you know right well. Here is the mark of the gash you gave me seven years ago.


Anywhere else than in Holland, where important and delicate business debars me from fighting, I shall be glad to meet you and mark you again, if you still desire to cross swords with me; but while I am here I must beg you not to disturb me. All the same, you may as well know that I never go out without a couple of friends in my pockets, and that if you attack me I shall blow your brains out in self-defence.


My revenge must be with crossed swords. However, I will let you finish your business.


You will do wisely.


It’s a forgery, and the original from which it was copied was honoured yesterday.


though he could not believe it, he would look into the matter.


You may look into it when you please, but in the mean time I should be obliged by your giving me five hundred florins.


You know me, sir. I guarantee to pay you, and that ought to be enough.


No doubt it would be enough, if I chose; but I want my money.


Follow me, and let me see to this business myself.


I must take care, not to see you every day, for your eyes have a sway over me that I shall not be able to resist much longer.


I shall believe as much of that as I choose, but, by-the-by, have you thought of any way of convincing me?


What do you want to be convinced about?


If it be true that there is in your cabala an intelligence distinct from your own you ought to be able to find some way of proving it to me.


That is a happy thought; I will think it over.


By way of punishment. I hope you will come with me to the theatre this evening, though they are going to give a Dutch play, of which you will not understand a word.


I shall be near you, and that is enough for me.


I want to speak to you privately, tell that fellow to go out.


He can stay, he does not know a word of Italian.


Yesterday, about noon, two men came into my room. They were accompanied by the innkeeper, who served as interpreter. One of the men asked me if I felt inclined to cash there and then a forged bill of exchange, which I had given the night before, and which he held in his hands. As I gave no reply, he told me that there was no time for consideration or argument; I must say yes or no there and then, for such were their instructions from the chief of police. I had no choice in the matter, so I paid the five hundred florins, but I did not get back the bill, and the man told me I could not have it unless I told the police the name of the person from whom I got it, as, in the interests of commerce, the forger must be prosecuted. My reply was that I could not possibly tell them what they wanted, as I had got it of a stranger who had come into my room while I was holding a small bank of faro, to pass the time. I told him that after this person (who I had thought introduced by someone in the company) had gone, I found to my surprise that nobody knew him; and I added that if I had been aware of this I would not only have refused the bill but would not have allowed him to play. Thereupon the second policeman said that I had better find out who this person was, or else I should be considered as the forger and prosecuted accordingly; after this threat they went out.


No, they are not here, and shall never come here, for they are ladies of high birth, and their uncle, who looks after their interests, is a Venetian gentleman.


Oh, indeed! he does not live with his highborn nieces, then?


No, he only comes to dinner to hear how business has been going, and to take all the money from them.


Come along, we will go and see them.


We can get on without knowing,


Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?


Count Piccolomini has found himself forced to declare that he received the forged bill from us, in order that he may escape from the difficult position in which your denunciation placed him. He has warned us that he is going to do so, and we must escape forthwith if we want to avoid prosecution. We have not a penny; we are desperate men.


Well, gentlemen, what have I to do with that?


Give us four hundred florins immediately; we do not want more, but we must have that much, and now. If you refuse we will take to flight with everything of yours that we can lay our hands on; and our arguments are these.


You need not have recourse to violence, it can only be fatal to you. Stay, here are a hundred ducats more than you asked. Begone, and I wish you a pleasant journey, but I would not be here when my servant comes back if I were you.


You will see my appetite at supper. I have had nothing to eat since dinner yesterday. I am going to tell you an important piece of news, and that is that I am sure that you do not invent the answers to your oracle, or at least that you only do so when you choose. The reply you procured me was wonderful--nay, divine, for it told me of a secret unknown to all, even to myself. You may imagine my surprise when I convinced myself, with no little trouble of the truth of the answer. You possess a treasure, your oracle is infallible; but surely it can never lie, and my oracle tells me that you love me. It makes me glad to know that, for you are the man of my heart. But I want you to give me an exemplary proof of your love, and if you do love me you will not hesitate to do so. Stay, read the reply you got me; I am sure you do not know what it says; then I will tell you how you can make me quite happy.


I am delighted, that the oracle has convinced you so easily, but I must be excused if I say that I believe you knew as much long ago.


You love me, and you ought to make no difficulty in assuring the bliss of a girl who will be your wife, and in your power. My father will agree to our marriage, and when I become your wife I will do whatever you please. We will even go and live in another country if that would add to your happiness. But you must teach me how to obtain the answer to any question without inventing it myself.


You know, Esther, dear, that my word is passed at Paris. Certainly, Manon is not to be compared to you; but for all that I gave my promise to her poor mother, and I must keep it.


What can I do for you, sir?


Sir, we knew each other at Cerigo, sixteen or seventeen years ago, and I am delighted to have an opportunity of renewing the acquaintance.


Are you the man, who told me that you were the son of a Count Peccini, of Padua, although there is no such count in Padua at all?


I congratulate you on your excellent memory. I am that very individual.


Well, what do you want with me now?


I can’t divulge my business in the presence of your servant.


My servant does not understand Italian, so you can speak out; however, if you like, I will send him away.


a time would come.


Then. I shall have him arrested as an escaped galley slave, in which character I have given him alms, and for wearing without the right to do so the uniform of an officer, thereby disgracing the whole army. And pray what outrage can I have committed against girls who live in a brothel, and whom I have paid according to their deserts?


If what you say is true you are quite right, but this poor devil is in a desperate situation; he wants to leave the country, and does not possess a single florin. I advise you to give him an alms once more, and you will have done with him. Two score florins will not make you any the poorer, and will rid you of a villainous enemy.


A most villainous one, I think.


I have told them that you are coming, and to welcome you more honourably the lodge will be opened in French.


I wish to know whether the individual who desires me and my company to transact a matter of the greatest importance is really a friend of the King of France?


Here’s a fine opportunity, for covering my oracle with glory, and giving my fair Esther something to think about.


The friend disavows. The order is signed. They grant. They refuse. All vanishes. Delay.


The reply is clear enough for me. The oracle is divine; the word ‘delay’ is addressed to me. You and my daughter are clever enough in making the oracle speak, but I am more skilled than you in the interpretation thereof. I shall prevent the thing going any further. The project is no less a one than to lend a hundred millions, taking in pledge the diamonds of the French crown. The king wishes the loan to be concluded without the interference of his ministers and without their even knowing anything about it. I entreat you not to mention the matter to anyone.


Now. I am quite sure that that reply came from another intelligence than yours. In the name of all you hold sacred, tell me the meaning of those four letters, and why you usually omit them.


I omit them, dearest Esther, because experience has taught me that in ordinary cases they are unnecessary; but while I was making the pyramid the command came to me to set them down, and I thought it well to obey.


What do they mean?


They are the initial letters of the holy names of the cardinal intelligences of the four quarters of the world. I may not tell you, but whoever deals with the oracle should know them.


Ah! do not deceive me; I trust in you, and it would be worse than murder to abuse so simple a faith as mine.


I am not deceiving you, dearest Esther.


But if you were to teach me the cabala, you would impart to me these holy names?


Certainly, but I cannot reveal them except to my successor. If I violate this command I should lose my knowledge; and this condition is well calculated to insure secrecy, is it not?


It is, indeed. Unhappy that I am, your successor will be, of course, Manon.


No, Manon is not fitted intellectually for such knowledge as this.


But you should fix on someone, for you are mortal after all. If you like, my father would give you the half of his immense fortune without your marrying me.


Esther! what is it that you have said? Do you think that to possess you would be a disagreeable condition in my eyes?


But what is the matter, papa dear? you surprise me more than I can say.


Sit down beside me, my dear children, and listen to your father and your best friend. I have just received a letter from one of the secretaries of their high mightinesses informing me that the French ambassador has demanded, in the name of the king his master, that the Comte St. Germain should be delivered over, and that the Dutch authorities have answered that His Most Christian Majesty’s requests shall be carried out as soon as the person of the count can be secured. In consequence of this the police, knowing that the Comte St. Germain was staying at the Etoile d’Orient, sent to arrest him at midnight, but the bird had flown. The landlord declared that the count had posted off at nightfall, taking the way to Nimeguen. He has been followed, but there are small hopes of catching him up. It is not known how he can have discovered that a warrant existed against him, or how he continued to evade arrest. It is not known, but everyone guesses that M. Calcoen, the same that wrote to me, let this friend of the French king’s know that he would be wanted at midnight, and that if he did not get the key of the fields he would be arrested. He is not so foolish as to despise a piece of advice like that. The Dutch Government has expressed its sorrow to M. d’Afri that his excellence did not demand the arrest of St. Germain sooner, and the ambassador will not be astonished at this reply, as it is like many others given on similar occasions. The wisdom of the oracle has been verified, and I congratulate myself on having seized its meaning, for we were on the point of giving him a hundred thousand florins on account, which he said he must have immediately. He gave us in pledge the finest of the crown diamonds, and this we still retain. But we will return it to him on demand, unless it is claimed by the ambassador. I have never seen a finer stone. And now, my children, you see what I owe to the oracle. On the Exchange the whole company can do nothing but express their gratitude to me. I am regarded as the most prudent and most farseeing man in Holland. To you, my dear children, I owe this honour, but I wear my peacock’s feathers without scruple. My dear Casanova, you will dine with us, I hope. After dinner I shall beg you to enquire of your inscrutable intelligence whether we ought to declare ourselves in possession of the splendid diamond, or to observe secrecy till it is reclaimed.


Sweetheart, you have an opportunity for giving me a strong proof of your friendship. It will cost you nothing, but it will cover me with honour and happiness.


Command me, and it shall be done. You cannot think that I would refuse you a favour which is to cost me nothing, when I should deem myself happy to shed my blood for your sake.


My father wishes you to tell him after dinner whether it will be better to declare that they have the diamond or to keep silence till it is claimed. When he asks you a second time, tell him to seek the answer of me, and offer to consult the oracle also, in case my answer may be too obscure. Then perform the operation, and I will make my father love me all the better, when he sees that my knowledge is equal to yours.


Dearest one, would I not do for thee a task a thousand times more difficult than this to prove my love and my devotion? Let us set to work. Do you write the question, set up the pyramids, and inscribe with your own hand the all-powerful initials. Good. Now begin to extract the answer by means of the divine key. Never was a cleverer pupil!


Silence necessary. Without silence, general derision. Diamond valueless; mere paste.


What an amazing reply! The diamond is false, and it is I who am about to reveal their folly to them. I shall inform my father of this important secret. It is too much, it overwhelms me; I can scarcely contain myself for joy! How much I owe you, you wonderful and delightful man! They will verify the truth of the oracle immediately, and when it is found that the famous diamond is but glittering paste the company will adore my father, for it will feel that but for him it would have been covered with shame, by avowing itself the dupe of a sharper. Will you leave the pyramid with me?


Certainly; but it will not teach you anything you do not know.


Be wise, and receive the news I give you calmly. The packet contains your portrait and all the letters you have written to me. Return me my portrait, and if you have kept my letters be kind enough to burn them. I rely on your honour. Think of me no more. Duty bids me do all I can to forget you, for at this hour to-morrow I shall become the wife of M. Blondel of the Royal Academy, architect to the king. Please do not seem as if you knew me if we chance to meet on your return to Paris.


What is the matter with you, my dear Casanova?


I have had a great grief, but let us say no more about it. Sit down beside me, Esther dear, and allow me to make a mystery of what has affected me so grievously. Time, the mighty healer, and still more your company, will effect a cure which I should in vain seek by appealing to my reason. Whilst we talk of other things I shall not feel the misfortune which gnaws at my heart.


Well, get up, dress yourself, and come and spend the day with me, and I will do my best to make you forget your sorrow.


I feel very weak; for the last three days I have only taken a little broth and chocolate.


Dear, if a large sum of money, beyond what my father owes you, can remove or even soothe your grief I can be your doctor, and you ought to know that your accepting my treatment would make me happy.


No, dear Esther, generous Esther, it is not money I want, for if I did I would ask you and your father as a friend: what I want, and what no one can give me, is a resolute mind, and determination to act for the best.


Ask advice of your oracle. Why do you laugh? if I am not mistaken, the oracle must know a remedy for your woes.


I laughed, dearest, because I felt inclined to tell you to consult the oracle this time. As for me I will have nothing to do with it, lest the cure be worse than the disease.


But you need not follow your advice unless you like it.


No, one is free to act as one thinks fit; but not to follow the advice of the oracle would be a contempt of the intelligence which directs it.


Ah! I will make you the dish you are so fond of.


Now, you must oblige me by dressing, and doing your hair as if you were going to a ball.


That, is a funny idea, but as it pleases you it pleases me. Choose the dress that suits me best.


No. I will choose it myself. A little broth would do you good; send for a dish, it will give you an appetite for dinner.


Am I to blame, for having discovered the cause of your sorrow?


No, no, my dear Esther; pity your friend, and say no more about it.


Then I may read all the letters?


Yes, dearest, if it will amuse you. Those cursed epistles, which please you so well, will be the death of me.


Death? Oh, no! I will cure you, I hope.


I hope so, too; but after dinner you must help me to burn them all from first to last.


Burn them! No; make me a present of them. I promise to keep them carefully all my days.


They are yours, Esther. I will send them to you to-morrow.


Shall you send back the portrait to your faithless mistress?


I don’t know what to do with it.


Send it back to her; she is not worthy of your honouring her by keeping it. I am sure that your oracle would give you the same advice. Where is the portrait? Will you shew it me?


I have not made up the answer.


Shall I be impertinent, if I ask you where your portrait is? Manon says in her letter that she is sending it back; but I don’t see it anywhere.


In my first paroxysm of rage, I threw it down; I don’t know in what direction. What was thus despised by her cannot be of much value to me.


Let us look for it; I should like to see it.


I would give it you if such a present were worthy of you.


Ah! you could not give me anything I would value more.


Will you deign to accept it, Esther, though it has been possessed by another?


It will be all the dearer to me.


Is your Manon fair to see all over?


I really can’t say, for, not being her husband, I never had an opportunity of investigating the matter.


Your discretion is worthy of all praise, such conduct becomes a man of delicate feeling.


I was told by her nurse that she was perfect in all respects, and that no mole or blemish relieved the pure whiteness of her skin.


You must have a different notion of me?


Yes, Esther, as the oracle revealed to me the great secret you desired to know. Nevertheless, I should find you perfect in all your parts. If I became your husband, I could easily refrain from touching you there.


I suppose you think, that if you touched it your desires might be lessened?


Till to-morrow.


We will set to work,


But, Esther dear, did not the oracle reveal a circumstance of which you knew perfectly well before?


No, sweetheart, the secret was perfectly unknown to me and would have continued unknown.


Then you have never been curious enough to inspect your own person?


However curious I may have been, nature placed that mole in such a position as to escape any but the most minute search.


You have never felt it, then?


It is too small to be felt.


I don’t believe it.


I know your love for me is as great as mine for you; and if I am certain that what you have just said cannot possibly be true, I am forced to conclude that if you do not communicate to me all the secrets of your science it is because to do so is not in your power. Let us love one another till death, and say no more about this matter. If love has taken away from you the courage of sincerity I forgive you, but I am sorry for you. You have given me too positive proof of the reality of your science to be able to shake my belief. You could never have found out a thing of which I myself was ignorant, and of which no mortal man could know.


And if I shew you, Esther dear, that I knew you had this mole, that I had good reasons for supposing you to be ignorant of it, will your belief be shaken then?


You knew it? How could you have seen it? It’s incredible!


I will tell you all.


I will find out, but after all you have told me I can only admire you the more for knowing what no one else does.


Do you really think, Esther, that I am the sole possessor of this science? Undeceive yourself. All who have studied anatomy, physiology, and astrology, know of it.


Then I beg you to get me, by to-morrow--yes, tomorrow--all the books which will teach me secrets of that nature. I long to be able to astonish the ignorant with my cabala, which I see requires a mixture of knowledge and imposition. I wish to devote myself entirely to this study. We can love each other to the death, but we can do that without getting married.


You played high, to save your money, but you might have lost a limb, and nothing would have made up for that.


I intend to go to-morrow, and if anything could keep me at Cologne it would certainly not be the prospect of being present at an execution, as such sights are not at all to my taste.


I think of crossing the Rhine to-morrow, and shall probably dine at Bonn.


I am sure, sir, that this lady will persuade you to delay your departure--at least, I hope so, that I may have the pleasure of seeing more of your company.


Is the count right, in attributing such power to me?


I think so, indeed, but he may possibly be wrong in thinking you care to exercise it.


Very good! We must catch him, then, if only as the punishment of his indiscretion. Stay.


Then you will stay, sir! It is really very kind of you, for if you went off to-morrow people might say that you only came here to shew your disdain for us. Tomorrow the general gives a ball, and I hope you will be one of the party.


Can I hope to dance with you all the evening?


I promise to dance with nobody but you, till you get tired of me.


Then we shall dance together through all the ball.


Where did you get that pomade which perfumes the air? I smelt it as soon as you came into the box.


It came from Florence, and if you do not like it you shall not be troubled with it any more.


Oh! but I do like it. I should like some of it myself.


And I shall be only too happy if you will permit me to send you a little to-morrow.


I am sure madame has prevailed on you to stay, and to come to my ball and supper to-morrow?


She has led me to anticipate that you would do me that honour, and she promises to dance the quadrilles with me. How can one resist entreaty from such lips?


Quite so, and I am obliged to her for having kept you with us. I hope to see you to-morrow.


And what would you say, if I give my promise, and do not keep it?


I should bemoan my lot, without accusing you; I should say to myself that you had found it impossible to keep your word.


You are very good; you must stay with us. If he asks you whether you are going to the Elector’s ball at Bonn, say yes!


You are very wise, sir, all the pleasures on earth should be sacrificed when it is a question of one’s health.


I know Casanova, and if he be at Bonn the Elector shall hear of it, and he shan’t go off without my seeing him.


My dear fellow-countryman, I am sure you are the man who broke my bank; I congratulate you.


I should congratulate myself if I were the fortunate individual.


I am sure that it was you.


You changed your domino in such a room, in such a house. The Elector knows all about it, and as a punishment for this deceit he has ordered me to tell you that you are not to leave Bonn to-morrow.


Is he going to arrest me, then?


Why not, if you refuse his invitation to dinner tomorrow?


Tell his highness that his commands shall be obeyed. Will you present me to him now?


He has left the ball, but wait on me to-morrow at noon.


I am wearing the costume of Grand Master of the Teutonic Order to-day. I was at Venice, when you were under the Leads, and my nephew, the Elector of Bavaria, told me that after your fortunate escape you stayed some time at Munich; if you had come to Cologne I should have kept you. I hope that after dinner you will be kind enough to tell us the story of your escape, that you will stay to supper, and will join in a little masquerade with which we propose to amuse ourselves. One could never have too much of a good thing,


Send each one a note with the name of her cavalier, and trust in Count Verita to do everything for the best; you need only tell him that you wish to give an entertainment similar to that given two years ago by the Prince de Deux-Ponts. Lose no time. You will have a score of guests; mind you let them know the hour of the repast. Take care, too, that your invitations are sent round by nine o’clock in the morning.


It can all easily be arranged. I have only to write to the steward, and I will do so immediately. But how much do you want to spend?


As much as possible.


As little as possible, I suppose you mean.


Not at all; I want to treat my guests with magnificence.


All the same you must fix on a sum, as I know whom I’ve got to deal with.


Well, well! two-three hundred ducats; will that do?


Two hundred; the Prince de Deux-Ponts did not spend more.


The collation, will be composed of only twenty-four dishes, but in addition there will be twenty-four dishes of English oysters and a splendid dessert.


I will wager that this is the Elector’s doing. His highness has desired to preserve his incognito, and M. Casanova has played his part to admiration.


General,


if the Elector had given me such an order, I should, of course, have obeyed him, but I should have felt it a humiliating part to play. His highness, however, has deigned to do me a far greater honour; look here.


The general,


had too much to drink; he is an envious devil, and has discovered that it is not seemly of you to treat us as if you were a prince. I told him that, on the contrary, you had treated us as if we were princes, waiting on us with your napkin on your arm. He thereupon found fault with me for degrading you.


Why do you not send him about his business? So rude a fellow is not worthy of serving so famous a beauty.


It’s too late. A woman whom you don’t know would get possession of him. I should be obliged to conceal my feelings, and that would vex me.


I understand--I understand. Would that I were a great prince! In the mean time, let me tell you that my sickness is greater than Kettler’s.


You are joking, I hope.


Nay, not at all; I am speaking seriously, for the kisses I was so happy to snatch from you at the ball have inflamed my blood, and if you have not enough kindness to cure me in the only possible way I shall leave Cologne with a life-long grief.


Put off your departure: why should you desire to go to Stuttgart so earnestly? I think of you, believe me, and I do not wish to deceive you; but it is hard to find an opportunity.


If you had not the general’s carriage waiting for you to-night, and I had mine, I could take you home with perfect propriety.


Hush! As you have not your carriage, it is my part to take you home. It is a splendid idea, that we must so contrive it that it may not seem to be a concerted plan. You must give me your arm to my carriage, and I shall then ask you where your carriage is; you will answer that you have not got one. I shall ask you to come into mine, and I will drop you at your hotel. It will only give us a couple of minutes, but that is something till we are more fortunate.


I am going to the general’s to ask after his health; if it will not take you too much out of your way, I can leave you at your lodging as we come back.


What!


he has not asked you? You must go, for all that.


Consider what you say,


I will do anything to please you but that.