"I think he is rather nice-looking, and his manners are kind and polite; but let us wait till to-morrow."
"Perhaps he will have nothing more to say to me; I am so stupid."
"I know very well that you think yourself very clever, and that's where your fault lies; it's your self-conceit which makes you stupid, although M. Casanova takes you for a wit."
"Perhaps he may know what he is talking about."
"My poor dear, he is only laughing at you."
"I have good reasons for thinking otherwise, aunt."
"There you go; you will never get any sense."
"Pardon me, madam, if I cannot be of your opinion. Mademoiselle is quite right in saying that I do not laugh at her. I dare to say that to-morrow she will shine in the conversation."
"You think so? I am glad to hear it. Now let us have a game at piquet, and I will play against you and my niece, for she must learn the game."
Tiretta asked leave of his darling to go to the play, and we played on till supper-time. On his return, Tiretta made us almost die of laughing with his attempts to tell us in his broken French the plot of the play he had seen.
I had been in my bedroom for a quarter of an hour, expecting to see my sweetheart in some pretty kind of undress, when all of a sudden I
saw her come in with all her clothes on. I was surprised at this circumstance, and it seemed to me of evil omen.
"You are astonished to see me thus," said she, "but I want to speak to you for a moment, and then I will take off my clothes. Tell me plainly whether I am to consent to this marriage or no?"
"How do you like him?"
"Fairly well."
"Consent, then!"
"Very good; farewell! From this moment our love ends, and our friendship begins. Get you to bed, and I will go and do the same.
Farewell!"
"No, stay, and let our friendship begin to-morrow."
"Not so, were my refusal to cost the lives of both of us. You know what it must cost me to speak thus, but it is my irrevocable determination. If I am to become another's wife, I must take care to be worthy of him; perhaps I may be happy. Do not hold me, let me go.
You know how well I love you."
"At least, let us have one final embrace."
"Alas! no."
"You are weeping."
"No, I am not. In God's name let me go."
"Dear heart, you go but to weep in your chamber; stay here. I will marry you."
"Nay, no more of that."
With these words she made an effort, escaped from my hands, and fled from the room. I was covered with shame and regret, and could not sleep. I hated myself, for I knew not whether I had sinned most grievously in seducing her or in abandoning her to another.
I stayed to dinner next day in spite of my heartbreak and my sadness.
Mdlle. de la Meure talked so brilliantly and sensibly to her intended that one could easily see he was enchanted with her. As for me, feeling that I had nothing pleasant to say, I pretended to have the toothache as an excuse for not talking. Sick at heart, absent-
minded, and feeling the effects of a sleepless night, I was well-nigh mad with love, jealousy, and despair. Mdlle. de la Meure did not speak to me once, did not so much as look at me. She was quite right, but I did not think so then. I thought the dinner would never come to an end, and I do not think I was ever present at so painful a meal.
As we rose from the table, Madame went into her closet with her niece and nephew that was to be, and the niece came out in the course of an hour and bade us congratulate her, as she was to be married in a week, and after the wedding she would accompany her husband to Dunkirk. "To-morrow," she added, "we are all to dine with M.
Corneman, where the deed of settlement will be signed."
I cannot imagine how it was I did not fall dead on the spot. My anguish cannot be expressed.
Before long it was proposed that we should go to the play, but excusing myself on the plea of business I returned to Paris. As I