I know all you can urge; nevertheless, you must go. I should feel insulted if you were not at that supper. If you love me you will give me this proof of your affection and (I think I may say) esteem.


You ask me thus? Then I will go. But are you aware that you are exposing me to the danger of losing my life or taking his? for I am not the man to pass over an affront.


I know all you can say,


I have your honour at heart as much as mine, or perhaps more so, but nothing will happen to you; I will answer for everything. You must go, and you must give me your promise now, for I am resolved if you do not go, neither will I, but we must never see each other more.


Then you may reckon upon me.


How can that have happened? Sir, I did not ask you to come.


That is quite true, general,


but I thought, no doubt correctly, that the omission was due to forgetfulness, and I thought myself obliged all the same to come and pay my court to your excellency.


His greatest merit was to have served faithfully the last Duke Kettler; who if it had not been for the courage of him who is now so unfortunate, would have lost all his belongings in the war. It was Duke Kettler who so heroically sent him to the Court of St. Petersburg, but Biron never asked for the duchy. An earldom would have satisfied him, as he recognized the rights of the younger branch of the Kettler family, which would be reigning now if it were not for the empress’s whim: nothing would satisfy her but to confer a dukedom on the favourite.


Yes, if it were not for that whim I should be reigning now.


I am quite sure, that he would have gone further, if your grand answer had not stopped his mouth; but if he had said another word, my mind was made up.


To do what?


I should have risen from the table and taken your arm, and we should have gone out together. M. de Castries has told me that he would have done the same, and I believe all the ladies whom you asked to breakfast would have followed our example.


But the affair would not have stopped then, for I should certainly have demanded immediate satisfaction, and if he had refused it I should have struck him with the flat of my sword.


I know that, but pray forget that it was I who exposed you to this danger. For my part, I shall never forget what I owe to you, and I will try to convince you of my gratitude.


Here is our bedroom, and this is the closet in which I sleep for five or six nights in every month. Here is a church which we may look upon as our private chapel, as we hear mass from those two grated windows. On Sundays we go down this stair and enter the church by a door, the key to which is always in my keeping.


I have thought of it as well as you, and I will give you the necessary instructions in writing; you will find them in the first gazette I send you. The design which love inspired is subject not to difficulty but uncertainty. The wife only sleeps in the closet when her husband asks her--an event which only occurs at certain periods, and the separation does not last for more than a few days. This period is not far off, but long custom has made it impossible for the wife to impose on her husband. It will, therefore, be necessary to wait. Love will warn you when the hour of bliss has come. The plan will be to hide in the church; and there must be no thought of seducing the door-keeper, for though poor he is too stupid to be bribed, and would betray the secret. The only way will be to hide so as to elude his watchfulness. He shuts the church at noon on working days; on feast days he shuts it at evening, and he always opens it again at dawn. When the time comes, all that need be done is to give the door a gentle push--it will not be locked. As the closet which is to be the scene of the blissful combat is only separated from the room by a partition, there must be no spitting, coughing, nor nose-blowing: it would be fatal. The escape will be a matter of no difficulty; one can go down to the church, and go out as soon as it is opened. Since the beadle has seen nobody in the evening, it is not likely that he will see more in the morning.


The door is open, and you will be more comfortable on the staircase, where you will find a light, a little dinner, and some books, than in the church. The seat is not very easy, but I have done my best to remedy the discomfort with a cushion. Trust me, the time will seem as long to me as to you, but be patient. I have told the general that I do not feel very well, and shall not go out to-day. May God keep you from coughing, especially during the night, for on the least noise we should be undone.


I don’t understand. Very good, sir. Then I will go away and come again when the sovereign is not here, as when an air pleases me I always applaud.


You are M. Casanova, are you?


Yes, my lord.


Where do you come from?


From Cologne.


Is this the first time you have been to Stuttgart?


Do you think of staying long?


For five or six days, if your highness will allow me.


Certainly, you may stay as long as you like, and you may clap when you please.


I shall profit by your permission, my lord.


Good.


Did you tell the duke you were my cousin?


No,


Very good, then I will do so myself; come and dine with me to-morrow.


She is not made for the duke’s eyes to gaze on, and he shall never have her.


It’s a lie.


But my dear, you can’t be better informed on the subject than I am.


As Gardella is only a boatman’s daughter, like Binetti, the latter thinks, and very rightly, that you ought to have given her the refusal of your cousinship.


We are going, to visit certain ladies of easy virtue; we shall be glad to have you of our company.


I only speak a few words of German, and if I join you I shall be bored.


Ah! but the ladies are Italians, nothing could suit you better.


Don’t forget to wake me at four in the morning,


Gentlemen. I have lost a sum which I cannot pay, and which I certainly should not have lost without the drugged wine you gave me. You have taken me to a den of infamy, where I was shamefully robbed of jewellery to the value of more than three hundred Louis. I complain of no one, since I have only my own folly to complain of. If I had been wiser all this would not have happened to me.


We are too honest, sir, to take advantage of your position. You have been unfortunate, but all men are sometimes unfortunate, and we ask nothing better than a mutual accommodation. We will take over all your properties; jewels, diamonds, arms, and carriage, and have them valued; and if the sum realized does not cover your debt we will take your acceptance, payable at date, and remain good friends.


Sir, I do not wish for the friendship of robbers, and I will not play a single farthing. Gentlemen, your menaces will not intimidate me, and, as far as I can see, you have only two ways of getting paid; either by way of the law, in which case I do not think I shall find it difficult to get a barrister to take up my case, or, secondly, you can pay yourselves on my body, honourably, with sword in hand.


If you give them the start, they may possibly gain a great advantage over you in spite of the right being on your side.


They took you to the house of ill-fame; they poured out the drugged wine which deprived you of your reason; they made you play in spite of their prince’s prohibition (for gaming is strictly forbidden); in this company you were robbed of your jewels after they had made you lose an enormous sum. It’s a hanging matter, and the duke’s interest will be to do you justice, for an act of scoundrelism like this committed by his officers would dishonour him all over Europe.


As the duke gives audience to the first comer, why should I not have as good a reception as a labouring man?


Write a brief account of the business, and I will lay it before the sovereign, who will no doubt see justice done.


for, an officer came to see you, and finding you were out he took up his position at the street door and has two soldiers standing at the foot of the staircase.


You must not go to the inn; stay here, where you have nothing to fear. Send for what you want, and we will wait and see what happens.


And when I have done that, your business will be mine.


Sir, all my endeavors on your behalf have been unsuccessful. There is a party against you which seems to have support in some high quarter, and which silences the voice of justice. It is my duty to warn you that unless you find some way of arranging matters with these rascals you are a ruined man. The judgment given by the police magistrate, a rascal like the rest of them, is of a summary character, for as a stranger you will not be allowed to have recourse to the delays of the law. You would require bail to do that. They have managed to procure witnesses who swear that you are a professional gamester, that it was you who seduced the three officers into the house of your countryman Peccini, that it is not true that your wine was drugged that you did not lose your watches nor your snuff-box, for, they say, these articles will be found in your mails when your goods are sold. For that you will only have to wait till to-morrow or the day after, and do not think that I am deceiving you in any particular, or you will be sorry for it. They will come here and empty your mails, boxes, and pockets, a list will be made, and they will be sold by auction the same day. If the sum realized is greater than the debt the surplus will go in costs, and you may depend upon it that a very small sum will be returned to you; but if, on the other hand, the sum is not sufficient to pay everything, including the debt, costs, expenses of the auction, etc., you will be enrolled as a common soldier in the forces of His Most Serene Highness. I heard it said to the officer, who is your greatest creditor, that the four Louis enlistment money would be taken into account, and that the duke would be glad to get hold of such a fine man.


You are very wise, in consenting to a composition, but we need not all three be present. I have full powers from the other two, and that will be sufficient for the notary.


I am in bad enough case, for you to grant me the favour of seeing you all together; I cannot think you will refuse me.


Well, well, you shall be satisfied, but if you are in a hurry to leave Stuttgart I must warn you that we cannot come before Monday, for we are on duty for the next four days.


I am sorry to hear it, but I will wait. Give me your word of honour that all proceedings shall be suspended in the mean time.


Certainly; here is my hand, and you may reckon on me. In my turn I have a favour to ask. I like your post-chaise; will you let me have it for what it cost you?


With pleasure.


Be kind enough to call the landlord, and tell him in my presence that the carriage belongs to me. I am certain of having the chaise,


In all,


I am grateful to you, and you can count upon my devotion. The whole town and the duke as well know your creditors to be knaves, but they have their reasons for refusing to see their conduct in its true light.


And now. I want your advice.


You will have to abandon your mails, which you could not take off without attracting attention, and you must send all your effects to my house. I engage to deliver safely whatever you may put in my care. I will take away your effects under my clothes in several journeys, and I can begin to-night.


all the necessary measures had been taken, and that I should find a post-chaise, under the charge of his servant, waiting for me on the high road. So far good, and the reader shall now hear how I contrived to escape from my inn.


After supper, instead of going to bed, I shall hold myself in readiness for leaving my room, and I shall leave it when I see the light extinguished in the ante-room, while I shall take care that my candle be so placed as not to shew any light outside, or to reflect my shadow. Once out of my room, I shall have no difficulty in reaching the stairs, and my escape will be accomplished. I shall go to Binetti’s, leave the town by his house, and wait for you at Furstenburg. No one can hinder you from joining me in the course of a day or two. So when you see me ready in my room, and this will be whilst the sentry is having his supper, put out the candle on the table: you can easily manage to do so whilst snuffing it. You will then take it to re-light it, and I shall seize that moment to get off in the darkness. When you conclude that I have got out of the ante-room, you can come back to the soldier with the lighted candle, and you can help him to finish his bottle. By that time I shall be safe, and when you tell him I have gone to bed he will come to the door, wish me good night, and after locking the door and putting the key in his pocket he will go away with you. It is not likely that he will come in and speak to me when he hears I have gone to bed.


Drive on, and make one stage of it from here to Tubingen, without changing horses at Waldenbach. You’re drunk,


Sir, all Stuttgart knows you to be here, and I fear, lest the three officers who were too cowardly to accept your challenge may have you assassinated. If you are wise you will set out for Switzerland forthwith.


That’s cowardly, my lad. Don’t be afraid about me, but tell me all that happened after my escape.


As soon as you were gone, sir, I carried out your instructions, and helped the poor devil of a sentry to empty his bottle, though he would have willingly dispensed with my assistance in the matter; I then told him you had gone to bed, and he locked the door as usual, and went away after shaking me by the hand. After he had gone I went to bed. Next morning the worthy man was at his post by nine o’clock, and at ten the three officers came, and on my telling them that you were still asleep they went away, bidding me come to a coffee-house, and summon them when you got up. As they waited and waited to no purpose, they came again at noon, and told the soldier to open the door. What followed amused me, though I was in some danger in the midst of the rascals. They went in, and taking the wig-block for your head they came up to the bed and politely wished you good morning. You took no notice, so one of them proceeded to give you a gentle shake, and the bauble fell and rolled along the floor. I roared with laughter at the sight of their amazement.


You laugh, do you, rascal? Tell us where your master is.


I was not going to stand this sort of thing, so I told them, with an oath, that if they did not stop I should defend myself, adding that I was not my master’s keeper, and advising them to ask the sentry. The sentry on his part swore by all the saints that you must have escaped by the window, but in spite of this a corporal was summoned, and the poor man was sent to prison. The clamour that was going on brought up the landlord, who opened your mails, and on finding them empty said that he would be well enough paid by your postchaise, replying only with a grin to the officer who pretended you had given it him. In the midst of the tumult a superior officer came up, who decided that you must have escaped through the window, and ordered the sentry to be set at liberty on the spot. Then came my turn, for, as I kept on laughing and answered all questions by ‘I don’t know,’ these gentleman had me taken to prison, telling me I should stay there till I informed them where you, or at least your effects, could be found. The next day one of them came to the prison, and told me that unless I confessed I should undoubtedly be sent to the galleys. On the faith of a Spaniard. I know nothing, but if I did it would be all the same to you, for no one can make an honest servant betray his master. At this the rascal told the turnkey to give me a taste of the lash, and after this had been done I was set at liberty.


After supper, pondering over my arrival in Zurich where I had dropped from the clouds as it were, I began, to reflect seriously upon my present situation and the events of my past life. I recalled my misfortunes and scrutinized my conduct; and was not long in concluding that all I had suffered was through my own fault, and that when fortune would have crowned me with happiness I had persistently trifled that happiness away. I had just succeeded in escaping from a trap where I might have perished, or at least have been overwhelmed with shame, and I shuddered at the thought. I resolved to be no more fortune’s plaything, but to escape entirely from her hands. I calculated my assets and found I was possessed of a hundred thousand crowns. ‘With that,’ said I, ‘I can live secure amidst the changes and chances of this life, and I shall at last experience true happiness.’


Nowhere,


The abbot said it was near noon and that he hoped I would do him the honour of dining with him,


for. I have a chancery, since as abbot of Our Lady of Einsiedel I am a prince of the Holy Roman Empire.


What! game like that at this time of year?


It’s a secret, which I shall be glad to communicate to you.


I suppose your monks have private libraries of their own, which contain accounts of travels, with historical and scientific works.


Not at all, my monks are honest folk, who are content to do their duty, and to live in peace and sweet ignorance.


I wish to make a general confession of all my sins, that I may obtain the benefit of absolution, and receive the Holy Eucharist on the morrow.


Whether I stay here, depends on myself alone, as I am sure the abbot will not refuse me the cowl if I give him ten thousand crowns for my support.


When I ask for the habit. I will also ask that my novitiate be extended for ten years, and if repentance do not come in ten years it will not come at all. I shall declare that I do not wish for any cure or any ecclesiastical dignity. All I want is peace and leave to follow my own tastes, without scandalising anyone.


My carriage is at the door to take you to Zurich. Go, and let me have a fortnight to think it over. I will bring my answer in person. In the meanwhile here are two sealed letters, which please deliver yourself.


I am amazed to see that no sooner do you arrive in Switzerland than you contrive to find some amusement which keeps you away for two whole days.


Ah, I see; go and tell the landlord that I shall want the use of a good carriage for the next fortnight, and also a guide on whom I can rely.


But, you will confess that Our Lady of Einsiedel . . .


What! do you think I should make an exception in favour of a set of forty ignorant, lazy, vicious, idle, hypocritical scoundrels who live bad lives under the cloak of humility, and eat up the houses of the poor simpletons who provide for them, when they ought to be earning their own bread?


But how about his reverend highness the abbot?


A stuck-up peasant who plays the part of a prince, and is fool enough to think himself one.


But he is a prince.


As much a prince as I am. I look upon him as a mere buffoon.


What has he done to you?


Nothing; but he is a monk.


He is a friend of mine.


I cannot retract what I have said, but I beg your pardon.


Waiter. I will take supper in the dining-room with everybody else.


If you want to see those ladies, that won’t do, as they have ordered their supper to be brought up to them. They want to go to bed in good time as they are to leave at day-break.


Where are they going?


To Our Lady of Einsiedel to pay their vows.


Where do they come from?


From Soleure.


What are their names?


I don’t know.


What are you laughing at?


At your taking such a fancy, sir, though I think I know why.


You are a sharp fellow.


Yes, sir, as sharp as most of them; I will get you a new apron. The pretty one asked me who you were.


What did you tell her?


I said you were an Italian; that’s all.


If you will hold your tongue I will double that piece of gold.


I have asked your Spaniard to help me, sir, as I am single-handed, and supper has to be served at the same time both upstairs and downstairs.


Very good; but the rascal mustn’t come into the room or he would be sure to laugh. Let him go to the kitchen, bring up the dishes, and leave them outside the door.


Supper is about to be served, ladies.


Make haste about it, then, as we have got to rise before day-break.


Do you stay here, as I have to go downstairs.


We have a waiter who knows his work. Have you been long at this inn?


Only a few weeks, madam.


You wait very well.


Madam is very good.


Come here a moment.


What does madam require?


Let me see it. What beautiful lace!


So I have been told, madam, but it is very old. An Italian gentleman who was staying here made me a present of it.


You have ruffles of the same kind, I suppose?


Yes, madam;


You are certainly very curious, my dear, one would think you had never seen lace before.


What are you waiting for?


For your orders, madam.


Thank you, I don’t want anything.


Your boots, madam, you will like them removed before you retire.


True, but still I don’t like to give you so much trouble.


I am here to attend on you, madam.


That will do, thank you. I did not notice that you were giving yourself so much trouble. We shall see you to-morrow evening.


Then you will sup here, ladies?


Certainly. No, my good fellow, leave the key inside.


She has caught you.


What?


I saw it all, sir, you played your part as well as any actor in Paris; and I am certain that she will give you a louis to-morrow, but if you don’t hand it over to me I will blow on the whole thing.


That’s enough, you rascal; get me my supper as quickly as possible.


The following distich, should now become your motto: Inveni portum. Spes et fortuna valete; Nil mihi vobiscum est: ludite nuns alios.


That is a translation of two verses from Euripides, but, my lord, they will not serve me, as I have changed my mind since yesterday.


I congratulate you, and I hope you will accomplish all your desires. I may tell you confidentially that it is much easier to save one’s soul in the world where one can do good to one’s neighbours, than in the convent, where a man does no good to himself nor to anyone else.


I will take you to a house, where you will find what you want. Go up to the second floor and you will be well received by an old woman, if you whisper my name to her. I dare not accompany you, as I am well known in the town and it might get me into trouble with the police, who are ridiculously strict in these matters. Indeed I advise you to take care that nobody sees you going in.


I took your place. The lady who has taken your fancy is Madame----, and I must confess she is vastly fine.


Did she ask where the other waiter was?


No, but the other ladies asked what had become of you several times.


And Madame said nothing?


She didn’t open her mouth, but looked sad and seemed to care for nothing, till I said you were away because you were ill.


That was stupid of you. Why did you say that?


I had to say something.


True. Did you untie her shoe?


No; she did not want me to do so.


Good. Who told you her name?


Her coachman. She is just married to a man older than herself.


Sir, you are condemned to pay a fine of one louis.


Why?


For having danced on a holy day.


Get out; I won’t pay.


You will pay, though,


I will appeal.


To whom, sir?


To the judge of the place.


Sir. I am the judge.


Judge and plaintiff too, as far as I can see. But if your daughter had not tempted me. I should not have danced; she is therefore as guilty as I.


Very true, sir; here is a Louis for her. Now yours.


That’s a robber,


The custom may astonish you, but it is a common one in many parts of Switzerland. The man you have just seen is a young lover who is going to pass the night with his future bride. Next morning he will leave more ardent than before, as she will not allow him to go too far. If she was weak enough to yield to his desires he would probably decline to marry her, and she would find it difficult to get married at all.


I shall always remember, the kindness with which the Venetians treated me; but tell me, I beg, the names of those gentlemen who still remember me; they must be quite old now.


Three louis, madam.


Yes, sir; we have been playing at two sous the fish. You thought, perhaps, we were playing for farthings.


On the contrary, I thought it was for francs, as I never play lower.


Proceed, my lord. Two ladies who saw you at my house yesterday told me in confidence, after you had gone, that I should do well to be on my guard, as you were the waiter in an inn at Zurich where they had stayed. They added that they had seen the other waiter by the Aar, and that in all probability you had run away from the inn together; God alone knows why! They said, furthermore, that you slipped away from my house yesterday as soon as you saw them. I told them that even if you were not the bearer of a letter from his grace the Duc de Choiseul I should have been convinced that they were mistaken, and that they should dine with you to-day, if they would accept my invitation. I also hinted that you might have merely disguised yourself as a waiter in the hopes of winning some favours from them, but they rejected the hypothesis as absurd, and said that you could carve a capon and change a plate dexterously enough, but were only a common waiter for all that, adding that with my permission they would compliment you on your skill to-day. Do so, by all means, ladies. M. Casanova and myself will be highly amused. Certainly, my lord, I will tell you all without reserve, but in confidence, as this ridiculous report may injure the honour of one who is dear to me, and whom I would not injure for the world. It is true, then? I am quite interested to hear all about it. It is true to a certain extent; I hope you don’t take me for the real waiter at the ‘Sword.’ Certainly not, but I supposed you played the part of waiter? Exactly. Did they tell you that they were four in company. Ah, I have got it! Pretty Madame was one of the party. That explains the riddle; now I understand everything. But you were quite right in saying that discretion was needful; she has a perfectly blameless reputation. Ah! I did not know that. What happened was quite innocent, but it might be so garbled in the telling as to become prejudicial to the honour of a lady whose beauty struck me with admiration.


If that prove an impossibility,


I shall leave Soleure in three or four days; but I will first turn the three ugly companions of my charmer into ridicule. They might have had sense enough to guess that the waiter’s apron was only a disguise. They can only pretend to be ignorant of the fact in the hope of getting some advantage over me, and injuring their friend, who was ill advised to let them into the secret.


Softly, softly, you go too fast and remind me of my own young days. Permit me to embrace you, your story has delighted me. You shall not go away, you shall stay here and court your charmer. To-day you can turn two mischievous women into ridicule, but do it in an easy way. The thing is so straightforward that M.---- will be the first to laugh at it. His wife cannot be ignorant of your love for her, and I know enough of women to pronounce that your disguise cannot have displeased her. She does know of your love?


Undoubtedly.


You confess, then, that you are the waiter at the ‘Sword’?


Well, not quite that, madam, but I confess that I was the waiter for an hour, and that you cruelly disdained to address a single word to me, though I was only a waiter, because I longed for the bliss of seeing you. But I hope I shall be a little more fortunate here, and that you will allow me to pay you my respectful homage.


This is very wonderful! You played your part so well that the sharpest eye would have been deceived. Now we shall see if you play your new part as well. If you do me the honour to call on me I will give you a good welcome.


There is the good-natured waiter,


The worthy man stepped forward, and politely thanked me for having done his wife the honour of taking off her boots.


That is all right,


I will play Montrose.


And I, Murray,


Oh! why isn’t there a waiter’s part in the play?


you would play it so well.


That is well said, but I hope you will teach me to play Murray even better.


Lord Murray,


must dance with no one but Lindane.


I cannot invite you to my house,


for certain sufficient reasons; but if you will stay here some time we shall be able to see each other. But I entreat you not to shew me any marked attention in public, for there are those who will spy upon our actions, and it is not pleasant to be talked about.


In what respect do you think me timid?


What! You! You dare to love me?


Yes; I adore you! How should I not?


We will have a rehearsal to-morrow at my country house, and I beg the favour of all your companies to dinner there.


Will you come with me, we can talk the matter over at our ease? M. Casanova will have the honour of keeping your wife company in your carriage.


Well, well, did you profit by the interview I got you?


I may hope for everything. I shall do nothing in a hurry, as I have to take care that the lady’s honour does not suffer, and I trust to time to see the accomplishment of my wishes. I shall want a pretty country house, a good carriage, two lackeys, a good cook, and a housekeeper. All that I leave to your excellency, as I look upon you as my refuge and guardian angel.


To-morrow, without fail, I will see what I can do, and I have good hopes of doing you a considerable service and of rendering you well content with the attractions of Soleure. So far as I can see, what you are aiming at in this intrigue is the satisfying of your desires without doing any harm to the lady’s reputation. I think I know the nature of your love for her well enough to say that if she told you that your leaving Soleure was necessary to her peace of mind you would leave her at once. You see that I have sounded you well enough to be a competent adviser in this delicate and important affair, to which the most famous events in the annals of diplomacy are not to be compared.


Your excellency does not do sufficient justice to a career which has gained you such distinction.


That’s because I am an old man, my dear fellow, and have shaken off the rust and dust of prejudices, and am able to see things as they really are, and appreciate them at their true value. But let us return to your love-affair. If you wish to keep it in the dark, you must avoid with the greatest care any action which may awaken suspicion in the minds of people who do not believe that anything is indifferent. The most malicious and censorious will not be able to get anything but the merest chance out of the interview I procured you today, and the accident of the sneezing bout, defy the most ill-natured to draw any deductions; for an eager lover does not begin his suit by sending the beloved one into convulsions. Nobody can guess that your hellebore was used to conceal the blush that your caresses occasioned, since it does not often happen that an amorous combat leaves such traces; and how can you be expected to have foreseen the lady’s blushes, and to have provided yourself with a specific against them? In short, the events of to-day will not disclose your secret. M.---- who, although he wishes to pass for a man devoid of jealousy, is a little jealous; M.---- himself cannot have seen anything out of the common in my asking him to return with me, as I had business of importance with him, and he has certainly no reasons for supposing that I should be likely to help you to intrigue with his wife. Furthermore, the laws of politeness would have forbidden me, under any circumstances, offering the lady the place I offered him, and as he prides himself on his politeness he can raise no possible objection to the arrangement which was made. To be sure I am old and you are young--a distinction not unimportant in a husband’s eyes. an exordium which I have delivered in the official style of a secretary of state, let us see where we are. Two things are necessary for you to obtain your wished-for bliss. The first thing, which concerns you more particularly, is to make M.---- your friend, and to conceal from him that you have conceived a passion for his wife, and here I will aid you to the best of my ability. The second point concerns the lady’s honour; all your relations with her must appear open and above-board. Consider yourself under my protection; you must not even take a country house before we have found out some plan for throwing dust into the eyes of the observant. However, you need not be anxious; I have hit upon a plan. You must pretend to be taken ill, but your illness must be of such a kind that your doctor will be obliged to take your word for the symptoms. Luckily, I know a doctor whose sole idea is to order country air for all complaints. This physician, who is about as clever as his brethren, and kills or cures as well as any of them, will come and feel my pulse one of these days. You must take his advice, and for a couple of louis he will write you a prescription with country air as the chief item. He will then inform everybody that your case is serious, but that he will answer for your cure.


What is his name?


Doctor Herrenschwand.


What is he doing here? I knew him at Paris; he was Madame du Rumain’s doctor.


That is his brother. Now find out some polite complaint, which will do you credit with the public. It will be easy enough to find a house, and I will get you an excellent cook to make your gruel and beef-tea.


My husband, has a very high opinion of you. He has taken no offence at our coming in the same carriage. But tell me, was it an accident or design that made M. de Chavigni take my husband and leave us together?


It was the result of design, dearest. Are you sorry it was so?


Alas! no.


Quite so, quite so; it’s a troublesome thing, but we will see what can be done. My first remedy, which you may possibly not care much for, is for you to pass six weeks in the country, where you will not see those objects which impress your brain, acting on the seventh pair of nerves, and causing that lumbar discharge which no doubt leaves you in a very depressed state.


Yes, it certainly does.


Quite so, quite so. My next remedy is cold bathing.


Are the baths far from here?


They are wherever you like. I will write you a prescription, and the druggist will make it up.


I know all, and I will be avenged.


You cannot be avenged for nothing, for I have never done you an injury. However, if you intend to have me assassinated, I shall apply for police protection.


We don’t assassinate here. We are not Italians.


This, is the best way possible of gaining the friendship of your rival. Do you think you can manage it?


I am not positive of success.


Perhaps I have gone a little too far; but I told him that by means of your acquaintance with the Duchesse de Grammont you could do anything with the minister.


I must make you a true prophet; I will do all I can.


If I like it, and am free to leave it when I please, I will willingly pay the six months’ rent in advance.


There is a fine hall in it.


All the better; I will give a ball as evidence of my gratitude to the people of Soleure for the kind welcome I have received from them.


Would you like to come and see it to-morrow?


With pleasure.


Very good, then I will call for you at eight o’clock, if that hour will suit you.


I shall expect you.


I made my wife promise to come with us; but she is a sluggard, who prefers her bed to the fresh air.


how pleased she was that I liked the house;


I hoped they would often do me the honour of dining with me.


Yes, if I see any prospect of its being a brilliant one, and if I have your approbation. You need have no doubts on that point, my dear fellow, and whatever you can’t find in the shops come to me for. Come, I see you are going to spend a little money. It is a good plan, and overcomes many difficulties. In the meanwhile you shall have two footmen, an excellent cook, a housekeeper, and whatever other servants you require. The head of my household will pay them, and you can settle with him afterwards, he is a trustworthy man. I will come now and then and take a spoonful of soup with you, and you shall reward me for what services I may have done you by telling me how things are getting on. I have a great esteem for your charming friend, her discretion is beyond her years, and the pledges of love you will obtain of her will doubtless increase your passion and your esteem. Is she aware that I know all?


She knows that we are firm friends, and she is glad of it, as she is sure that you will be discreet.


She may count on my discretion. She is really a delicious woman; I should have been tempted to seduce her myself thirty years ago.


Do you belong to the household?


The ambassador’s steward has engaged me as your housekeeper.


Pardon my surprise. Take me to my room.


That is an honour. I cannot allow myself. I am only your servant.


Very good, but when I am alone I hope you will consent to take your meals with me, as I don’t like eating by myself.


I will do so, sir.


Where is your room?


This is the one the steward assigned to me, but you have only to speak if you wish me to sleep in another.


Not at all; it will do very well.


Where do you come from? What’s your name?


I come from Lyons; I am a widow, and my name is Dubois.


I am delighted to have you in my service. I shall see you again. I never eat by myself,


So I hear, sir; and I will serve supper accordingly.


What are your wages?


Four louis a month.


What can I do for you, madam?


I hope you will be good enough to order your man to be polite to me?


Certainly; how has he failed in politeness?


He might possibly tell you in no respect. He wanted to kiss me, and as I refused he thought himself justified in being rather insolent.


How?


By laughing at me. You will pardon me, sir, but I do not like people who make game.


You are right; they are sure to be either silly or malicious. Make yourself easy; Le Duc shall understand that you are to be treated with respect. You will please sup with me.


She’s a sly cat, she wouldn’t let me kiss her.


I am afraid you are a bad fellow.


Is she your servant or your mistress?


She might be my wife.


Oh! well, that’s different. That will do; Madame Dubois shall have all respect, and I will try my luck somewhere else.


My history, sir, is short enough, and not very interesting. I was born at Lyons, and my relations took me to Lausanne, as I have been told, for I was too young at the time to remember anything about it. My father, who was in the service of Madame d’Ermance, left me an orphan when I was fourteen. Madame d’Ermance was fond of me, and knowing that my mother’s means were small she took me to live with her. I had attained my seventeenth year when I entered the service of Lady Montagu as lady’s maid, and some time after I was married to Dubois, an old servant of the house. We went to England, and three years after my marriage I lost my husband. The climate of England affected my lungs, and I was obliged to beg my lady to allow me to leave her service. The worthy lady saw how weak I was, and paid the expenses of my journey and loaded me with rich presents. I returned to my mother at Lausanne, where my health soon returned, and I went into the service of an English lady who was very fond of me, and would have taken me with her to Italy if she had not conceived some suspicions about the young Duke of Rosebury, with whom she was in love, and whom she thought in love with me. She suspected me, but wrongfully, of being her rival in secret. She sent me away, after giving me rich presents, and saying how sorry she was she could not keep me. I went back to my mother, and for two years I have lived with the toil of my hands. Four days ago M. Lebel, the ambassador’s steward, asked me if I would enter the service of an Italian gentleman as housekeeper. I agreed, in the hope of seeing Italy, and this hope is the cause of my stupidity. In short: here I am.


What stupidity are you referring to?


The stupidity of having entered your service before I knew you.


I like your freedom. You would not have come, then, if you had not known me?


Certainly not, for no lady will ever take me after having been with you.


Why not? may I ask.


Well, sir; do you think you are the kind of man to have a house-keeper like myself without the public believing my situation to be of quite a different nature?


No, you are too pretty, and I don’t look like a fossil, certainly; but after all, what matter does it make?


It is all very well for you to make light of it, and if I were in your place I would do the same; but how am I, who am a woman and not in an independent position, to set myself above the rules and regulations of society?


You mean, Madame Dubois, that you would very much like to go back to Lausanne?


Not exactly, as that would not be just to you.


How so?


People would be sure to say that either your words or your deeds were too free, and you might possibly pass a rather uncharitable judgment on me.


What judgment could I pass on you?


You might think I wanted to impose on you.


That might be, as I should be very much hurt by so sudden and uncalled-for a departure. All the same I am sorry for you, as with your ideas you can neither go nor stay with any satisfaction. Nevertheless, you must do one or the other.


I have made up my mind. I shall stay, and I am almost certain I shall not regret it.


I am glad to hear that, but there is one point to which I wish to call your attention.


What is that?


I will tell you. Let us have no melancholy and no scruples.


You shall not see me melancholy, I promise you; but kindly explain what you mean by the word ‘scruples.’


Certainly. In its ordinary acceptation, the word ‘scruple’ signifies a malicious and superstitious whim, which pronounces an action which may be innocent to be guilty.


When a course of action seems doubtful to me, I never look upon the worst side of it. Besides, it is my duty to look after myself and not other people.


I see you have read a good deal.


Reading is my greatest luxury. Without books I should find life unbearable.


Have you any books?


A good many. Do you understand English?


Not a word.


I am sorry for that, as the English books would amuse you.


I do not care for romances.


Nor do I. But you don’t think that there are only romances in English, do you? I like that. Why do you take me for such a lover of the romantic, pray?


I like that, too. That pretty outburst is quite to my taste, and I am delighted to be the first to make you laugh.


Pardon me if I laugh, but . . .


But me no buts, my dear; laugh away just as you like, you will find that the best way to get over me. I really think, though, that you put your services at too cheap a rate.


That makes me laugh again, as it is for you to increase my wages if you like.


I shall take care that it is done.


It’s Le Duc’s business,


but if you like, it shall be yours for the future. I see, that you are going to serve me as you served Lady Montagu.


Not altogether; but as you do not like melancholy, allow me to ask a favour.


Do so, my dear.


Please do not ask me to give you your bath.


Upon my honour, I did not think of doing so. It would be scandalous. That’s Le Duc’s business.


Pardon me, and allow me to ask another favour.


Tell me everything you want.


Allow me to have one of the door-keeper’s daughters to sleep with me.


If it had come into my head, I would have proposed it to you. Is she in your room now?


No.


Go and call her, then.


Let us leave that till to-morrow, as if I went at this time of night it might make people talk.


I see you have a store of discretion, and you may be sure I will not deprive you of any of it.


he had not expected the honour.


You’re a rascal, get two cups of chocolate ready directly after I have had my bath.


You look in good spirits.


I am, because I am happy with you. I have had a good night, and there is now in my room a girl as lovely as an angel, who is to sleep with me.


Call her in.


You haven’t given yourself a rival certainly, my dear, but if she suits you it is all right. You shall have your breakfast with me, and I hope you will take chocolate with me every morning.


I shall be delighted, as I am very fond of it.


She will be an excellent cure for your love for Madame,


There you are wrong, she might make me fall in love with her without any diminution of my affection for my charmer.


I was far from anticipating that you would do me so great an honour, madam. I daresay; I have come to dine with you, and to ask you to do me a favour.


Come in, then, dinner is just being served. I beg to introduce Madame Dubois to you. I turned towards my charming housekeeper, and told her that the lady would dine with us.


I have come to ask you to let her have a couple of rooms in my house for three weeks or a month at the most.


You can’t refuse me, as everybody knows I have come on purpose to ask you.


Then everybody must know that I have refused you. I want to be alone--absolutely alone, without any kind of restriction on my liberty. The least suspicion of company would bore me.


I shall not bore you in any way, and you will be at perfect liberty to ignore my presence. I shall not be offended if you don’t enquire after me, and I shall not ask after you--even if you are ill. I shall have my meals served to me by my own servant, and I shall take care not to walk in the garden unless I am perfectly certain you are not there. You must allow that if you have any claims to politeness you cannot refuse me.


If you were acquainted with the most ordinary rules of politeness, madam, you would not persist in a request to which I have formally declined to accede. Well, madam, you shall have the apartment you have solicited with so much importunity, and an hour after you come in I shall be on my way back to Soleure.


I accept the apartment, and I shall occupy it the day after to-morrow. As for your threat of returning to Soleure, it is an idle one, as you would thereby make yourself the laughing-stock of the whole town.


I can hardly credit her requesting, or your granting, such a thing, unless you have some motives of your own.


Your excellency may find it very funny, but I don’t.


So I see; but take my advice, and be the first to laugh at the adventure. Behave as if you were unaware of her presence, and that will be a sufficient punishment for her. People will soon say she is smitten with you, and that you disdain her love. Go and tell the story to M.----, and stay without ceremony to dinner. I have spoken to Lebel about your pretty housekeeper: the worthy man had no malicious intent in sending her to you. He happened to be going to Lausanne, and just before, I had told him to find you a good housekeeper; thinking it over on his way, he remembered his friend Madame Dubois, and the matter was thus arranged without malice or pretense. She is a regular find, a perfect jewel for you, and if you get taken with her I don’t think she will allow you to languish for long.


I don’t know, she seems to be a woman of principle.


I shouldn’t have thought you would be taken in by that sort of thing. I will ask you both to give me a dinner to-morrow, and shall be glad to hear her chatter.


I don’t want to do that, as besides publicly disgracing her I should be shewing my own weakness, and proclaiming that I was not the master in my own house, and that I could not prevent her establishing herself with me.


I think so, too, and I am glad you gave way to her. That shews how polite you are, and I shall go and call on her to congratulate her on the welcome she got, as she told me that her plans had succeeded.


Your door-keeper’s wife, was my nurse. I have been kind to her, and when necessary I can write to you by her without running any risk.


I think you would reason well if you let yourself be persuaded to sleep with me, and you think you reason well in refusing to be so persuaded.


Trust me, sir, there is as much difference between the reasoning powers of men and women as there is between their physical characteristics.


Ah, indeed! then we must come and see your quarters, M. Casanova.


Yes, indeed! and I hope he will lend me his beautiful hall to give you a ball next Sunday.


The ambassador has asked me to his ball on Sunday. I answered that I was not well, but if I found myself better in the evening I would come. I think that as I am staying in your house I ought to be introduced by you or stay away altogether. So if you do not wish to oblige me by taking me, I must beg of you to tell the ambassador that I am ill. Pardon me if I have taken the liberty of infringing our agreement in this peculiar instance, but it is a question of keeping up some sort of appearance in public.


Not so. I think your idea is a beautiful one, madam. You will have to be ill, as I mean to keep to the conditions you made yourself, and to enjoy full liberty in all things, and I shall therefore deny myself the honour of taking you to the ball which the ambassador is to give in my hall.


Which of you two, is the most taken in?


We are equally pleased with each other,


Who is your nurse?


Your door-keeper’s wife, we will wait for you in this lady’s apartment.


Tell me, sweetheart, does not your pretty housekeeper sleep with you?


I swear she does not; I can only love you.


I would like to believe you, but I find it hard to do so; however, if you are speaking the truth it is wrong of you to keep her in the house, as nobody will believe in your innocence.


It is enough for me that you believe in it. I admire her, and at any other time I expect we could not sleep under the same roof without sleeping in the same bed; but now that you rule my heart I am not capable of a passion for her.


I am delighted to hear it; but I think she is very pretty.


It was made beforehand, was it?


Not at all, sir; but I am a quick hand.


You are, indeed.


as things seemed to be against us we must wait till her husband came to spend a few days with me.


I intend, to pay you a visit at Turin.


Are you going to bring your housekeeper with you?


No.


You are wrong, for she is a delightful person.


Nothing, sir, unless you will give me your friendship, which I value more than all the gold in the world; and if you would give me a proof of your friendship, come and spend a few days with me; I am positively dying of loneliness. The matter I have done for you is a mere trifle; you see how quickly it has been arranged.


A mere trifle! I have devoted a year’s labour to it; I have moved heaven and earth without succeeding, and in a fortnight you have accomplished it. Sir, you may dispose of my life.


Embrace me, and come and see me. I am the happiest of men when I am enabled to serve persons of your merit.


I will go and tell the good news to my wife, who will love you as well as I do.


Yes, do so, and bring her to dinner here to-morrow.


The only way to blind a jealous husband, is to make him your friend, for friendship will rarely admit jealousy.


after all the pains I had taken I deserved to be successful.


I am waiting, for my husband’s embraces, which he has prefaced with caresses, as is usual with him. We must therefore wait till the night after next, which will take away all risk, as I have never known him to embrace me for two nights in succession.


You really must be in love with that young woman; she is ravishing.


If I could pass two hours in your company to-night, I would prove to you that I am yours alone.


It is still out of the question, as my husband has ascertained that the moon changes to-day.


He has to ask leave of the moon, has he, before discharging so sweet a duty?


Exactly. According to his system of astrology, it is the only way to keep his health and to have the son that Heaven wills to grant him, and indeed without aid from above it is hardly likely that his wishes will be accomplished.


I hope to be the instrument of Heaven,


I only hope you may. The sacrifice to the moon has been performed, and to make sure I will cause him to renew his caresses tonight as soon as we go to bed; and after that he is certain to sleep soundly. You can come at an hour after midnight; love will await you.


I am delighted, to have been of service to you.


And I, am equally pleased to assure you of my gratitude. Come and breakfast with us, my wife is still at her toilette. Come along.


I thank you, sir; I thank you with all my heart. I beg to leave you at liberty again; I am going back to Soleure.


Wait for a quarter of an hour, we are going to breakfast with Madame.


I can’t stop a moment, I have just wished her good day, and now I must be gone. Farewell, and remember me.


Farewell, madam. One might think so, certainly, for she has received nothing but politeness at my hands, and I think she might have waited to go back with you in the evening.


I did not go to sleep till four o’clock this morning, after vainly sitting up in bed waiting for you till that time. What unforeseen accident prevented your coming?


My wife, is uneasy about you, and sent me to look after you.


she was sure it was only the sudden departure of the widow that had put me out.


I was not jesting at all, tell me what prevented your coming. it was a love-letter


I am sure that you spent the night with that malicious woman, and I am afraid of being compromised in consequence. Tell me everything; confide in me without reserve; ‘tis my first intrigue, and if it is to serve as a lesson you should conceal nothing from me. I am sure you loved me once, tell me that you have not become my enemy.


Good heavens! what are you saying? I your enemy!


Then tell me all, and before you read that wretched creature’s letter. I adjure you in the name of love to hide nothing from me.


Well, divine creature, I will do as you bid me. I came to your apartment at one o’clock, and as soon as I was in the second ante-chamber, I was taken by the arm, and a hand was placed upon my lips to impose silence; I thought I held you in my arms, and I laid you gently on the sofa. You must remember that I felt absolutely certain it was you; indeed, I can scarcely doubt it even now. I then passed with you, without a word being spoken, two of the most delicious hours I have ever experienced. Cursed hours! of which the remembrance will torment me for the remainder of my days. I left you at a quarter past three. The rest is known to you.


Who can have told the monster that you were going to visit me at that hour?


I can’t make out, and that perplexes me.


You must confess that I am the most to be pitied of us three, and perhaps, alas! the only one who may have a just title to the name ‘wretched.’


If you love me, in the name of Heaven do not say that; I have resolved to stab her, and to kill myself after having inflicted on her that punishment she so well deserves.


Have you considered that the publicity of such an action would render me the most unfortunate of women? Let us be more moderate, sweetheart; you are not to blame for what has happened, and if possible I love you all the more. Give me the letter she has written to you. I will go away from you to read it, and you can read it afterwards, as if we were seen reading it together we should have to explain matters.


Here it is.


We need not fear the harpy saying anything about it, as she would first have to proclaim her own prostitution, and as for us, concealment is the best plan. And I would have you note that the horrible creature gives you a piece of advice you would do well to follow.


I leave your house, sir, well enough pleased, not that I have spent a couple of hours with you, for you are no better than any other man, but that I have revenged myself on the many open marks of contempt you have given me; for your private scorn I care little, and I willingly forgive you. I have avenged myself by unmasking your designs and the hypocrisy of your pretty prude, who will no longer be able to treat me with that irritating air of superiority which she, affecting a virtue which she does not possess, has displayed towards me. I have avenged myself in the fact that she must have been waiting for you all the night, and I would have given worlds to have heard the amusing conversation you must have had when she found out that I had taken for vengeance’s sake, and not for love, the enjoyment which was meant for her. I have avenged myself because you can no longer pretend to think her a marvel of beauty, as having mistaken me for her, the difference between us must needs be slight; but I have done you a service, too, as the thought of what has happened should cure you of your passion. You will no longer adore her before all other women who are just as good as she. Thus I have disabused you, and you ought to feel grateful to me; but I dispense you from all gratitude, and do not care if you choose to hate me, provided your hatred leaves me in peace; but if I find your conduct objectionable in the future, I warn you that I will tell all, since I do not care for my own fame as I am a widow and mistress of my own actions. I need no man’s favour, and care not what men may say of me. Your mistress, on the other hand, is in quite a different position.


And here I will give you a piece of advice, which should convince you of my generosity. For the last ten years I have been troubled with a little ailment which has resisted all attempts at treatment. You exerted yourself to such an extent to prove how well you loved me that you must have caught the complaint. I advise you, then, to put yourself under treatment at once to weaken the force of the virus; but above all do not communicate it to your mistress, who might chance to hand it on to her husband and possibly to others, which would make a wretched woman of her, to my grief and sorrow, since she has never done me any harm. I felt certain that you two would deceive the worthy husband, and I wished to have proof; thus I made you take me in, and the position of the apartment you gave them was enough to remove all doubts; still I wanted to have proof positive. I had no need of any help to arrive at my ends, and I found it a pleasant joke to keep you in the dark. After passing two nights on the sofa all for nothing, I resolved on passing the third night there, and my perseverance was crowned with success. No one saw me, and my maid even is ignorant of my nocturnal wanderings, though in any case she is accustomed to observe silence. You are, then, at perfect liberty to bury the story in oblivion, and I advise you to do so.


If you want a doctor, tell him to keep his counsel, for people at Soleure know of my little indisposition, and they might say you caught it from me, and this would do us both harm.


Your sadness, is not like you, it frightens me. You may console yourself by telling me of your troubles, but do not imagine that my curiosity springs from any unworthy motive, I only want to be of service to you. You may rely on my being perfectly discreet; and to encourage you to speak freely, and to give you that trust in me which I think I deserve, I will tell you what I know and what I have learnt about yourself. My knowledge has not been obtained by any unworthy stratagems, or by a curiosity in affairs which do not concern me.


I am pleased with what you say, my dear housekeeper. I see you are my friend, and I am grateful to you. Tell me all you know about the matter which is now troubling me, and conceal nothing.


Very good. You are the lover and the beloved of Madame----. The widow whom you have treated badly has played you some trick which has involved you with your mistress, and then the wretched woman has left your house with the most unpardonable rudeness. This tortures you. You fear some disastrous consequences from which you cannot escape, your heart and mind are at war, and there is a struggle in your breast between passion and sentiment. Perhaps I am wrong, but yesterday you seemed to me happy and to-day miserable. I pity you, because you have inspired me with the tenderest feelings of friendship. I did my best to-day to converse with the husband that you might be free to talk to the wife, who seems to me well worthy of your love.


All that you have said is true. Your friendship is dear to me, and I have a high opinion of your intellectual powers. The widow is a monster who has made me wretched in return for my contempt, and I cannot revenge myself on her. Honour will not allow me to tell you any more, and indeed it would be impossible for you or any one else to alleviate the grief that overwhelms me. It may possibly be my death, but in the mean time, my dear Dubois, I entreat you to continue your friendship towards me, and to treat me with entire candour. I shall always attend to what you say, and thus you will be of the greatest service to me. I shall not be ungrateful.


Good heavens! Do you think I have a heart of stone? Calm yourself; I see you pity me. Leave me, and I hope I shall be able to get some sleep. We will dine together, dearest, but tell the surgeon to come in. I want to know what he has to say to me. My dear doctor, do all you can to cure him, and I will pay you handsomely, but next time don’t look so doleful when you have anything to tell me. How old are you?


Nearly eighty.


May God help you!


He must have said something amusing to make you laugh.


Yes, and I should like to tell you what it was; but before I do so I must ask you if you know what the venereal disease is?


Yes, I do; Lady Montagu’s footman died of it while I was with her.


Very good, but you should pretend not to know what it is, and imitate other ladies who assume an ignorance which well becomes them. Poor Le Duc has got this disease.


Poor fellow, I am sorry for him! Were you laughing at that?


No; it was the air of mystery assumed by the old doctor which amused me.


I too have a confidence to make, and when you have heard it you must either forgive me or send me away directly.


Here is another bother. What the devil can you have done? Quick! tell me.


Sir, I have robbed you!


What robbed me? When? How? Can you return me what you have taken? I should not have thought you capable of such a thing. I never forgive a robber or a liar.


You are too hasty, sir. I am sure you will forgive me, as I robbed you only half an hour ago, and I am now going to return to you the theft.


You are a singular woman, my dear. Come, I will vouchsafe full forgiveness, but restore immediately what you have taken.


This is what I stole.


What! that monster’s letter? Did you read it?


Yes, of course, for otherwise I should not have committed a theft, should I?


You have robbed me my secret, then, and that is a thing you cannot give me back. You have done very wrong.


I confess I have. My theft is all the greater in that I cannot make restoration. Nevertheless, I promise never to speak a word of it all my life, and that ought to gain me my pardon. Give it me quickly.


You are a little witch. I forgive you, and here is the pledge of my mercy.


I don’t doubt the validity of your pardon; you have signed with a double and a triple seal.


Yes; but for the future do not read, or so much as touch, any of my papers, as I am the depositary of secrets of which I am not free to dispose.


Very good; but what shall I do when I find papers on the ground, as that letter was?


You must pick them up, but not read them.


I promise to do so.


Very well, my dear; but you must forget the horrors you have read.


Listen to me. Allow me to remember what I have read; perhaps you may be the gainer. Let us talk over this affair, which has made my hair stand on end. This monster of immodesty has given you two mortal blows--one in the body and one in the soul; but that is not the worst, as she thinks that Madame’s honour is in her keeping. This, in my thinking, is the worst of all; for, in spite of the affront, your mutual love might continue, and the disease which the infamous creature has communicated to you would pass off; but if the malicious woman carries out her threats, the honour of your charming mistress is gone beyond return. Do not try to make me forget the matter, then, but let us talk it over and see what can be done.


Yes, my dear, let us think over some plan for delivering a woman who deserves the respect of all good men from this imminent danger; and the very thought that we have some chance of success makes me indebted to you. Let us think of it and talk of it from noon to night. Think kindly of Madame----, pardon her first slip, protect her honour, and have pity on my distress. From henceforth call me no more your master but your friend. I will be your friend till death; I swear it to you. What you say is full of wisdom; my heart is yours. Embrace me.


No, no, that is not necessary; we are young people, and we might perhaps allow ourselves to go astray. I only wish for your friendship; but I do not want you to give it to me for nothing. I wish to deserve it by giving you solid proofs of my friendship for you. In the meanwhile I will tell them to serve dinner, and I hope that after you have eaten something you will be quite well.


Well, my dear, he is a rascal and a profligate, full of impudence, sharp-witted, ignorant, a fearful liar, and nobody but myself has any power over him. However, he has one good quality, and that is blind obedience to my orders. He defies the stick, and he would defy the gallows if it were far enough off. When I have to ford a river on my travels, he strips off his clothes without my telling him, and jumps in to see if I can across in safety. That will do; he is just what we want under the circumstances. I will begin by assuring you, my dear friend, as you will have me style you thus, that Madame’s honour is perfectly safe. Follow my advice, and if the detestable widow does not take care she will be the only person put to shame. But we want Le Duc; without him we can do nothing. Above all we must find out how he contracted his disease, as several circumstances might throw obstacles in the way of my design. Go to him at once and find out all particulars, and if he has told any of the servants what is the matter with him. When you have heard what he has to say, warn him to keep the matter quiet.


With all my heart, sir, the matter happened like this. The day you sent me to Soleure to get your letters, I got down at a roadside dairy to get a glass of milk. It was served to me by a young wench who caught my fancy, and I gave her a hug; she raised no objection, and in a quarter of an hour she made me what you see. Have you told anyone about it? I took good care not to do so, as I should only have got laughed at. The doctor is the only one who knows what is the matter, and he tells me the swelling will be gone down before tomorrow, and I hope I shall be able by that time to wait upon you.


Very good, but remember to keep your own counsel.


Tell me whether the widow could take her oath that she had spent the two hours on the sofa with you.


No, for she didn’t see me, and I did not say a word.


Very good; then sit down at your desk and write, and tell her she is a liar, as you did not leave your room at all, and that you are making the necessary enquiries in your household to find out who is the wretched person she has unwittingly contaminated. Write at once and send off your letter directly. In an hour and a half’s time you can write another letter; or rather you can copy what I am just going to put down.


My dear, I see your plan; it is an ingenious one, but I have given my word of honour to Madame to take no steps in the matter without first consulting her.


Then your word of honour must give way to the necessity of saving her honour. Your love retards your steps, but everything depends on our promptitude, and on the interval between the first and second letter. Follow my advice, I beg of you, and you will know the rest from the letter I am going to write for you to copy. Quick I write letter number one. The impudence of your letter is in perfect accord with the three nights you spent in discovering a fact which has no existence save in your own perverse imagination. Know, cursed woman, that I never left my room, and that I have not to deplore the shame of having passed two hours with a being such as you. God knows with whom you did pass them, but I mean to find out if the whole story is not the creation of your devilish brain, and when I do so I will inform you. You may thank Heaven that I did not open your letter till after M. and Madame had gone. I received it in their presence, but despising the hand that wrote it I put it in my pocket, little caring what infamous stuff it contained. If I had been curious enough to read it and my guests had seen it, I would have you know that I would have gone in pursuit of you, and at this moment you would have been a corpse. I am quite well, and have no symptoms of any complaint, but I shall not lower myself to convince you of my health, as your eyes would carry contagion as well as your wretched carcase.


A quarter of an hour after I had sent off my letter, the village doctor came to tell me that my man had need of his treatment for a disease of a shameful nature which he had contracted quite recently. I told him to take care of his patient; and when he had gone I went to see the invalid, who confessed, after some pressure, that he had received this pretty present from you. I asked him how he had contrived to obtain access to you, and he said that he saw you going by yourself in the dark into the apartment of M.----. Knowing that I had gone to bed, and having no further services to render me, curiosity made him go and see what you were doing there by stealth, as if you had wanted to see the lady, who would be in bed by that time, you would not have gone by the door leading to the garden. He at first thought that you went there with ill-intent, and he waited an hour to see if you stole anything, in which case he would have arrested you; but as you did not come out, and he heard no noise, he resolved to go in after you, and found you had left the door open. He has assured me that he had no intentions in the way of carnal enjoyment, and I can well believe him. He tells me he was on the point of crying for help, when you took hold of him and put your hand over his mouth; but he changed his plans on finding himself drawn gently to a couch and covered with kisses. You plainly took him for somebody else, ‘and,’ said he, ‘I did her a service which she has done ill to recompense in this fashion.’ He left you without saying a word as soon as the day began to dawn, his motive being fear of recognition. It is easy to see that you took my servant for myself, for in the night, you know, all cats are grey, and I congratulate you on obtaining an enjoyment you certainly would not have had from me, as I should most surely have recognized you directly from your breath and your aged charms, and I can tell you it would have gone hard with you. Luckily for you and for me, things happened otherwise. I may tell you that the poor fellow is furious, and intends making you a visit, from which course I believe I have no right to dissuade him. I advise you to hear him politely, and to be in a generous mood when he comes, as he is a determined fellow like all Spaniards, and if you do not treat him properly he will publish the matter, and you will have to take the consequences. He will tell you himself what his terms are, and I daresay you will be wise enough to grant them.


Yes, sir, but the doctor tells me I must begin to bathe to-morrow.


Very good. As soon as your horse is ready, set out and go to Madame F----, but do not let her know you come from me, or suspect that you are a mere emissary of mine. Say that you want to speak to her. If she refuses to receive you, wait outside in the street; but I fancy she will receive you, and without a witness either. Then say to her, ‘You have given me my complaint without having been asked, and I require you to give me sufficient money to get myself cured.’ Add that she made you work for two hours in the dark, and that if it had not been for the fatal present she had given to you, you would have said nothing about it; but that finding yourself in such a state (you needn’t be ashamed to shew her) she ought not to be astonished at your taking such a course. If she resists, threaten her with the law. That’s all you have to do, but don’t let my name appear. Return directly without loss of time, that I may know how you have got on.


That’s all very fine, sir, but if this jolly wench has me pitched out of window, I shan’t come home quite so speedily.


Quite so, but you needn’t be afraid; I will answer for your safety.


It’s a queer business you are sending me on.


You are the only man I would trust to do it properly.


I will do it all right, but I want to ask you one or two essential questions. Has the lady really got the what d’you call it? She has. I am sorry for her. But how am I to stick to it that she has peppered me, when I have never spoken to her?


Do you usually catch that complaint by speaking, booby?


No, but one speaks in order to catch it, or while one is catching it.


You spent two hours in the dark with her without a word being spoken, and she will see that she gave this fine present to you while she thought she was giving it to another.


Ah! I begin to see my way, sir. But if we were in the dark, how was I to know it was she I had to do with?


Thus: you saw her going in by the garden door, and you marked her unobserved. But you may be sure she won’t ask you any of these questions.


I know what to do now. I will start at once, and I am as curious as you to know what her answer will be. But here’s another question comes into my head. She may try to strike a bargain over the sum I am to ask for my cure; if so, shall I be content with three hundred francs?


That’s too much for her, take half.


But it isn’t much for two hours of such pleasure for her and six weeks of such pain for me.


I will make up the rest to you.


That’s good hearing. She is going to pay for damage she has done. I fancy I see it all, but I shall say nothing. I would bet it is you to whom she has made this fine present, and that you want to pay her out.


Perhaps so; but keep your own counsel and set out.


Do you know I think the rascal is unique. I had hard work to keep from laughing when he said that if he were pitched out of the window he would not come back so soon. I am sure he will acquit himself better than ever did diplomatist. When he gets to Soleure the monster will have already dispatched her reply to your second letter. I am curious to see how it will turn out. To you, my dear, the honour of this comedy belongs. You have conducted this intrigue like a past master in the craft. It could never be taken for the work of a novice. Nevertheless, it is my first and I hope it will be my last intrigue. I hope she won’t defy me to ‘give evidence of my health’. You are quite well so far, I think? Yes; and, by the way, it is possible she may only have leucorrhoea. I am longing to see the end of the piece, and to set my mind at rest. Will you give Madame an account of our scheme? Yes; but I shall not be able to give you the credit you deserve. I only want to have credit in your eyes. You cannot doubt that I honour you immensely, and I shall certainly not deprive you of the reward that is your due. The only reward I ask for is for you to be perfectly open with me. You are very wonderful. Why do you interest yourself so much in my affairs? I don’t like to think you are really inquisitive. You would be wrong to think that I have a defect which would lower me in my own eyes. Be sure, sir, that I shall only be curious when you are sad. But what can have made you feel so generously towards me? Only your honourable conduct towards me. You touch me profoundly, and I promise to confide in you for the future. You will make me happy. Everything is getting on famously. Here is the letter; read it.


Whether I am being told the truth, or whether I am the victim of a myth arising from your fertile imagination (for which you are too well known all over Europe), I will regard the whole story as being true, as I am not in a position to disprove it. I am deeply grieved to have injured an innocent man who has never done me any ill, and I will willingly pay the penalty by giving him a sum which will be more than sufficient to cure him of the plague with which I infected him. I beg that you will give him the twenty-five louis I am sending you; they will serve to restore him to health, and to make him forget the bitterness of the pleasure I am so sorry to have procured for him. And now are you sufficiently generous to employ your authority as master to enjoin on your man the most absolute secrecy? I hope so, for you have reason to dread my vengeance otherwise. Consider that, if this affair is allowed to transpire, it will be easy for me to give it a turn which may be far from pleasant to you, and which will force the worthy man you are deceiving to open his eyes; for I have not changed my opinion, as I have too many proofs of your understanding with his wife. As I do not desire that we should meet again, I shall go to Lucerne on the pretext of family concerns. Let me know that you have got this letter.


I am sorry,


to have sent Le Duc, as the harpy is violent, and I am afraid of something happening to him.


Don’t be afraid, nothing will happen, and it is better that they should see each other; it makes it more certain. Send her the money directly; she will have to give it to him herself, and your vengeance will be complete. She will not be able to entertain the slightest suspicion, especially if Le Duc shews her her work, and in two or three hours you will have the pleasure of hearing everything from his lips. You have reason to bless your stars, as the honour of the woman you love is safe. The only thing that can trouble you is the remembrance of the widow’s foul embraces, and the certainty that the prostitute has communicated her complaint to you. Nevertheless, I hope it may prove a slight attack and be easily cured. An inveterate leucorrhoea is not exactly a venereal disease, and I have heard people in London say that it was rarely contagious. We ought to be very thankful that she is going to Lucerne. Laugh and be thankful; there is certainly a comic touch in our drama. Unfortunately, it is tragi-comic. I know the human heart, and I am sure that I must have forfeited Madame’s affections. It is true that----; but this is not the time to be thinking of such matters. Quick! write to her briefly and return her the twenty-five Louis.


Your unworthy suspicions, your abominable design of revenge, and the impudent letter you wrote me, are the only causes of your no doubt bitter repentance. I hope that it will restore peace to your conscience. Our messengers have crossed, through no fault of mine. I send you the twenty-five Louis; you can give them to the man yourself. I could not prevent my servant from paying you a visit, but this time you will not keep him two hours, and you will not find it difficult to appease his anger. I wish you a good journey, and I shall certainly flee all occasions of meeting you, for I always avoid the horrible; and you must know, odious woman, that it isn’t everybody who endeavours to ruin the reputation of their friends. If you see the apostolic nuncio at Lucerne, ask him about me, and he will tell you what sort of a reputation I have in Europe. I can assure you that Le Duc has only spoken to me of his misadventure, and that if you treat him well he will be discreet, as he certainly has nothing to boast of. Farewell.


The piece is not yet done, we have three scenes more.


What are they?


The return of your Spaniard, the appearance of the disease, and the astonishment of Madame when she hears it all.


Nolo coronari tristisque senectus


I am dying of hunger. I had to wait for that woman till half-past six. When she came in she found me on the stairs and told me to go about my business, as she had nothing to say to me. That may be, fair lady, but I have a few words to say to you, and I have been waiting here for a cursed time with that intent.


Wait a minute. Have you been waiting for me long?


Since eleven, without having had a bite or a sup.


Does the packet belong to me?


Certainly. Have some supper and go to bed.


She never replies. For an excellent reason, namely, that she cannot write. I thought she was dead when I came back from England, and it was a happy surprise to find her in perfect health when I got to Lausanne.


Who came with you from England?


Nobody.


I can’t credit that. Young, beautiful, well dressed, obliged to associate casually with all kinds of people, young men and profligates (for there are such everywhere), how did you manage to defend yourself?


Defend myself? I never needed to do so. The best plan for a young woman is never to stare at any man, to pretend not to hear certain questions and certainly not to answer them, to sleep by herself in a room where there is a lock and key, or with the landlady when possible. When a girl has travelling adventures, one may safely say that she has courted them, for it is easy to be discreet in all countries if one wishes.


To hinder you from coming to ask me for what I could not refuse you at such moments.


My dear friend, we are in love with one another; and if we do not take care we shall not long be content with this trifling.


I was delighted to read your letters, and to hear that that villainous woman can no longer flatter herself upon having spent two hours with you. But tell me, how can you have actually spent them with her without noticing, in spite of the dark, the difference between her and me? She is much shorter, much thinner, and ten years older. Besides, her breath is disagreeable, and I think you know that I have not that defect. Certainly, you could not see her hair, but you could touch, and yet you noticed nothing! I can scarcely believe it!


Unhappily, it is only too true. I was inebriated with love, and thinking only of you, I saw nothing but you.


I understand how strong the imagination would be at first, but this element should have been much diminished after the first or second assault; and, above all, because she differs from me in a matter which I cannot conceal and she cannot supply.


You are right--a burst of Venus! When I think that I only touched two dangling flabby breasts, I feel as if I did not deserve to live!


And you felt them, and they did not disgust you!


Could I be disgusted, could I even reflect, when I felt certain that I held you in my arms, you for whom I would give my life. No, a rough skin, a stinking breath, and a fortification carried with far too much ease; nothing could moderate my amorous fury.


What do I hear? Accursed and unclean woman, nest of impurities! And could you forgive me all these defects?


I repeat, the idea that I possessed you deprived me of my thinking faculties; all seemed to me divine.


You should have treated me like a common prostitute, you should even have beaten me on finding me such as you describe.


Ah! now you are unjust!


That may be; I am so enraged against that monster that my anger deprives me of reason. But now that she thinks that she had to do with a servant, and after the degrading visit she has had she ought to die of rage and shame. What astonishes me is her believing it, for he is shorter than you by four inches. And how can she imagine that a servant would do it as well as you? It’s not likely. I am sure she is in love with him now. Twenty-five louis! He would have been content with ten. What a good thing that the poor fellow’s illness happened so conveniently. But I suppose you had to tell him all?


Not at all. I gave him to understand that she had made an appointment with me in that room, and that I had really spent two hours with her, not speaking for fear of being heard. Then, thinking over the orders I gave him, he came to the conclusion that on finding myself diseased afterwards I was disgusted, and being able to disavow my presence I had done so for the sake of revenge.


That’s admirable, and the impudence of the Spaniard passes all belief. But her impudence is the most astonishing thing of all. But supposing her illness had been a mere trick to frighten you, what a risk the rascal would have run!


I was afraid of that, as I had no symptoms of disease whatever.


But now you really have it, and all through my fault. I am in despair.


Be calm, my angel, my disease is of a very trifling nature. I am only taking nitre, and in a week I shall be quite well again. I hope that then . . . .


Ah! my dear friend.


What?


Don’t let us think of that any more, I beseech you.


You are disgusted, and not unnaturally; but your love cannot be very strong, Ah! how unhappy I am.


I am more unhappy than you. I love you, and you would be thankless indeed if you ceased to love me. Let us love each other, but let us not endeavour to give one another proofs of our love. It might be fatal. That accursed widow! She is gone away, and in a fortnight we shall be going also to Bale, where we remain till the end of November. You have won my husband’s friendship and esteem; we shall always be good friends.


If you are going I feel that I must go before you. That will tend to convince the wretched author of my woe that there is nothing blame-worthy in my friendship for you.


You reason like an angel, and you convince me more and more of your love. Where are you going?


To Italy; but I shall take Berne and Geneva on my way.


You will not be coming to Bale, then? I am glad to hear it, in spite of the pleasure it would give me to see you. No doubt your arrival would give a handle for the gossips, and I might suffer by it. But if possible, in the few days you are to remain, shew yourself to be in good spirits, for sadness does not become you.


Your housekeeper, my dear friend, is a masterpiece. Tell me the truth, and I promise to give you a mark of my gratitude that will please you before I go.


Speak; what do you wish to know?


You love her and she loves you in return.


I think you are right, but so far . . . .


I don’t want to know any more, for if matters are not yet arranged they soon will be, and so it comes to the same thing. If you had told me you did not love her I should not have believed you, for I can’t conceive that a man of your age can live with a woman like that without loving her. She is very pretty and exceedingly intelligent, she has good spirits, talents, an excellent manner, and she speaks exceedingly well: that is enough to charm you, and I expect you will find it difficult to separate from her. Lebel did her a bad turn in sending her to you, as she used to have an excellent reputation, and now she will no longer be able to get a place with ladies in the highest society.


I shall take her to Berne.


That is a good idea.


Why, dearest, did you not procure me the bliss when I was in good health. Because at that time my husband suspected that you turned yourself into a waiter for my sake, and that you could not be indifferent towards me. Your discretion has destroyed his suspicions; and also your housekeeper, whom he believes to be your wife, and who has taken his fancy to such an extent, that I believe he would willingly consent to an exchange, for a few days at any rate. Would you agree?


Ah! if the exchange could be effected.


Don’t give yourself the trouble, my dear Casanova, of running from house to house to take leave. It can be done just as well at the assembly, and you need not even stay to supper, if you don’t want to.


You will take me with you, won’t you?


Certainly, if you like me well enough to want to go.


I would go with you to the end of the world, all the more as you are now sick and sad, and when I saw you first you were blithe and well. If I must leave you, I hope at least to see you happy first.


I will have him cured at Berne, tell him that we are going to dine there the day after to-morrow.


I must tell you, sir, that though it’s only a seven leagues’ journey, he cannot possibly undertake it as he has lost the use of all his limbs.


I am sorry to hear that, doctor.


I dare say, but it’s true.


I must verify the matter with my own eyes; You are in a pretty state,


I am very ill, sir, though otherwise I feel quite well.


I expect so, but as it is you can’t move, and I want to dine at Berne the day after to-morrow.


Have me carried there, I shall get cured.


You are right, I will have you carried in a litter.


I shall look like a saint out for a walk.


Sir, they all aspire to the honour of attending you while you bathe; you have only to choose which it shall be. Half-a-crown will pay for the bath, the girl, and your coffee.


She can’t have been pretty, for if she had been, you would certainly have given way. I should like to see her.


If you like I will take you there.


I should be delighted.


But you will have to dress like a man.


Your attendant, must be a boy, not a girl.


But, you saw her breasts.


Yes, but she may be a boy all the same.


You should publish it,


God forbid!


Burn it, then.


I can’t make up my mind to do so.


I understand perfectly well, that each of the thirteen cantons has its own government.


I daresay you do, but what you don’t understand any more than I do is, that there is a canton which has four separate governments.


Every government,


ought to know its own interests better than strangers, and everybody should be allowed to do what he wills with his own.


It seems to me, that the itching has increased since I have taken your medicines.


It will last, till the end of the cure, and that will take about three months.


As long as I scratch myself. I shall be in the same state, and the cure will never be completed.


You know the lady?


I had the honour to sup at her house with you.


True; I remember you. I get her the books she likes, as I am a bookseller, and not only do I sup with her every evening, but we breakfast together every morning before she gets up.


I congratulate you. I bet you are in love with her.


You are pleased to jest, but she is pleasanter than you think.


I do not jest at all, but I would wager she would not have the courage to push things to an extremity.


Perhaps you would lose.


Really? I should be very glad to.


Let us make a bet.


How will you convince me I have lost?


Let us bet a louis, and you must promise to be discreet.


Very good.


Come and sup at her house this evening, and I will tell you something.


You shall see me there.


I am curious to know, how he will convince you.


Call here, and the lady’s maid will tell you her mistress is not visible, but you have only to say that you will wait, and that you will go into the ante-chamber. This room has a glass door commanding a view of madame’s bed, and I will take care to draw back the curtains over the door so that you will be able to see at your ease all that passes between us. When the affair is over I shall go out by another door, she will call her maid, and you will be shewn in. At noon, if you will allow me, I will bring you some books to the ‘Falcon,’ and if you find that you have lost you shall pay me my louis.


I saw you when you were a child. You are the son of M. Mignard, minister of the Gospel. You must have been ten when I saw you.


Possibly, madam.


You did not care to follow your father’s profession, then?


No madam, I feel much more inclined to the worship of the creature than to that of the Creator, and I did not think my father’s profession would suit me.


You are right, for a minister of the Gospel ought to be discreet, and discretion is a restraint.


Take it and read it,


I have only put off the proposition, to set my affairs in order, and to see if I could afford to marry you, even if the consent of the ambassador were denied us. I find I am rich enough to live well in Berne or elsewhere without the necessity of my working; however I shall not have to face the alternative, for at the first hint of the matter M. de Chavigni gave his consent with the best grace imaginable.


Dearest, you are at perfect liberty to choose your own course, but I cannot contemplate your leaving me without considering myself as the most unhappy of men.


And if I lose you I should be the most unhappy of women; for if you love me I care not whether we are married or no.


Very good; but what answer are you going to make.


You shall see my letter to-morrow. I shall tell him politely but plainly that I love you, that I am yours, that I am happy, and that it is thus impossible for me to accept his flattering propositions. I shall also say that I appreciate his generosity, and that if I were wise I should accept him, but that being the slave of my love for you I can only follow my inclination.


I think you give an excellent turn to your letter. In refusing such an offer you could not have better reasons than those you give, and it would be absurd to try and persuade him that we are not lovers, as the thing is self-evident. Nevertheless, my darling, the letter saddens me.


Why, dearest?


Because I have not a hundred thousand francs to offer you.


I despise them; and if you were to offer me such a sum, I should only accept it to lay it at your feet. You are certainly not destined to become miserable, but if that should come to pass, be sure that I should be only too happy to share your misery.


Now that you know I am not really a man you can not be jealous or have objection to my taking your place beside my little wife, if she will let me.


Come along.


Do it again.


I can’t, my dear; don’t you see I am a dead man?


That’s very funny,


No, dearest, since you have effected its resurrection, you must make it die again.


I should like to, but I am afraid I have not got enough room;


With your experience, you ought to know that a time would come when you would regret both having lost this opportunity, for your love is sure to become friendship, and then another love will replace that which you now think as firm as the god Terminus. Lebel, has told me his plans, and far from disapproving, I have encouraged him, for your charming friend won my entire esteem in the five or six times I had the pleasure of seeing her with you. I shall be delighted, therefore, to have her in my house, where I can enjoy her conversation without transgressing the laws of propriety. Nevertheless, you will understand that at my age I have formed no desires, for I could not satisfy them even if their object were propitious.


What do you think of his advice, dearest? I think I had better follow it: he says there is no hurry, and delay is all we want. Let us love each other and think only of that. This letter is written with great wisdom, but I cannot imagine our becoming indifferent to each other, though I know such a thing is possible. Never indifferent; you make a mistake there. Well, friends, then; and that is not much better after being lovers. But friendship, dearest, is never indifferent. Love, it is true, may be in its composition. We know it, as it has been thus from the beginning of the world. Then the ambassador was right. Repentance might come and torment us when love had been replaced by calmer friendship. If you think so, let us marry each other to-morrow, and punish thereby the vices of our human nature. Yes, we will marry, but there is no hurry; fearing lest hymen should quicken the departure of love, let us enjoy our happiness while we can. You speak admirably, my angel, and deserve the greatest good fortune. I wish for no greater than what you procure me. Lausanne, is a little town where you would meet with the warmest hospitality, and during your fortnight’s stay you will have nothing to do but to make visits and to go to suppers. I am known to all the nobility, and the Duke of Rosebury, who wearied me with his love-making, is still there. My appearance with you will make everybody talk, and it will be as annoying for you as for me. My mother lives there, too. She would say nothing, but in her heart she would be ill-pleased to see me as the housekeeper of a man like you, for common sense would inform everyone that I was your mistress. When you leave Lausanne. I will rejoin you at Geneva, and then we will travel together where you please and as long as our love lasts.


This mortuary, was constructed with part of the bones of the Burgundians, who perished here at the well-known battle lost by Charles the Bold.


Deo. opt. Max. Caroli incluti et fortissimi Burgundie duds exercitus Muratum obsidens, ab Helvetiis cesus, hoc sui monumentum reliquit anno MCDLXXVI.


Then Morat has been razed to the ground?


Not at all, it is as it always has been, or nearly so.


I will stay, but remember to be kind.


I will.


A tutor like that and so pretty a pupil might easily become lovers.


Yes, please God. Utrum memoria post mortem dubito.


You do not think, then, that the memory is an essential part of the soul?


How is that question to be answered? Vetabo qui Cereris sacrum vulgarit arcanum sub usdem sit trabibus.


M. de Voltaire is a man who ought to be known, although, in spite of the laws of nature, many persons have found him greater at a distance than close at hand.


How is it, that he did not attain mature age?


Because there is no cure for death. Boerhaave was born a doctor, as Homer was born a poet; otherwise he would have succumbed at the age of fourteen to a malignant ulcer which had resisted all the best treatment of the day. He cured it himself by rubbing it constantly with salt dissolved in his own urine.


I have been told that he possessed the philosopher’s stone.


Yes, but I don’t believe it.


Do you think it possible?


I have been working for the last thirty years to convince myself of its impossibility; I have not yet done so, but I am sure that no one who does not believe in the possibility of the great work can be a good chemist.


It is the worst of all romances, because it is the most eloquently expressed. You will see the country of Vaud, but don’t expect to see the originals of the brilliant portraits which Jean Jacques painted. He seems to have thought that lying was allowable in a romance, but he has abused the privilege. Petrarch, was a learned man, and told no lies in speaking of his love for Laura, whom he loved as every man loves the woman with whom he is taken; and if Laura had not contented her illustrious lover, he would not have celebrated her.


You know, what my intentions are. I have to go back to-morrow, and when you have made up your minds, write to me and I will come and take her to Soleure, where I will marry her.


that she would never leave me until I sent her away.


We ought to think ourselves very fortunate, for if it had not been for chance, we should have been in a fine state now.


Yes, and I should be in despair.


I don’t doubt it, and you would be all the more wretched as I should never complain to you.