I Send The Corticelli to Turin — Helen is Initiated Into The Mysteries of Love I Go to Lyons — My Arrival at Turin

One of the ladies, Madame Saxe, was intended by nature to win the devotion of a man of feeling; and if she had not had a jealous officer in her train who never let her go out of his sight, and seemed to threaten anyone who aspired to please, she would probably have had plenty of admirers. This officer was fond of piquet, but the lady was always obliged to sit close beside him, which she seemed to do with pleasure.

In the afternoon I played with him, and continued doing so for five or six days. After that I could stand it no longer, as when he had won ten or twelve louis he invariably rose and left me to myself. His name was d’Entragues; he was a fine-looking man, though somewhat thin, and had a good share of wit and knowledge of the world.

We had not played together for two days, when one afternoon he asked if I would like to take my revenge.

“No, I think not,” said I, “for we don’t play on the same principle. I play for amusement’s sake and you play to win money.”

“What do you mean? Your words are offensive.”

“I didn’t mean them to be offensive, but as a matter of fact, each time we have played you have risen after a quarter of an hour.”

“You ought to be obliged to me, as otherwise you would have lost heavily.”

“Possibly; but I don’t think so.”

“I can prove it to you:”

“I accept the offer, but the first to leave the table must forfeit fifty Louis.”

“I agree; but money down.”

“I never play on credit.”

I ordered a waiter to bring cards, and I went to fetch four or five rolls of a hundred Louis each. We began playing for five Louis the game, each player putting down the fifty Louis wagered.

We began to play at three, and at nine o’clock d’Entragues said we might take some supper.

“I am not hungry,” I replied, “but you can go if you want me to put the hundred Louis in my pocket.”

He laughed at this and went on playing, but this lacy fair scowled at me, though I did not care in the least for that. All the guests went to supper, and returned to keep us company till midnight, but at that hour we found ourselves alone. D’Entragues saw what kind of man he had got hold of and said never a word, while I only opened my lips to score; we played with the utmost coolness.

At six o’clock the ladies and gentlemen who were taking the waters began to assemble. We were applauded for our determination, in spite of our grim look. The Louis were on the table; I had lost a hundred, and yet the game was going in my favour.

At nine the fair Madame Saxe put in an appearance, and shortly after Madame d’Urfe came in with M. de Schaumburg. Both ladies advised us to take a cup of chocolate. D’Entragues was the first to consent, and thinking that I was almost done he said —

“Let us agree that the first man who asks for food, who absents himself for more than a quarter of an hour, or who falls asleep in his chair, loses the bet.”

“I will take you at your word,” I replied, “and I adhere to all your conditions.”

The chocolate came, we took it, and proceeded with our play. At noon we were summoned to dinner, but we both replied that we were not hungry. At four o’clock we allowed ourselves to be persuaded into taking some soup. When supper-time came and we were still playing, people began to think that the affair was getting serious, and Madame Saxe urged us to divide the wager. D’Entragues, who had won a hundred louis, would have gladly consented, but I would not give in, and M. de Schaumburg pronounced me within my rights. My adversary might have abandoned the stake and still found himself with a balance to the good, but avarice rather than pride prevented his doing so. I felt the loss myself, but what I cared chiefly about was the point of honour. I still looked fresh, while he resembled a disinterred corpse. As Madame Saxe urged me strongly to give way, I answered that I felt deeply grieved at not being able to satisfy such a charming woman, but that there was a question of honour in the case; and I was determined not to yield to my antagonist if I sat there till I fell dead to the ground.

I had two objects in speaking thus: I wanted to frighten him and to make him jealous of me. I felt certain that a man in a passion of jealousy would be quite confused, and I hoped his play would suffer accordingly, and that I should not have the mortification of losing a hundred louis to his superior play, though I won the fifty louis of the wager.

The fair Madame Saxe gave me a glance of contempt and left us, but Madame d’Urfe, who believed I was infallible, avenged me by saying to d’Entragues, in a tone of the profoundest conviction —

“O Lord! I pity you, sir.”

The company did not return after supper, and we were left alone to our play. We played on all the night, and I observed my antagonist’s face as closely as the cards. He began to lose his composure, and made mistakes, his cards got mixed up, and his scoring was wild. I was hardly less done up than he; I felt myself growing weaker, and I hoped to see him fall to the ground every moment, as I began to be afraid of being beaten in spite of the superior strength of my constitution. I had won back my money by day-break, and I cavilled with him for being away for more than a quarter of an hour. This quarrel about nothing irritated him, and roused me up; the difference of our natures produced these different results, and my stratagem succeeded because it was impromptu, and could not have been foreseen. In the same way in war, sudden stratagems succeed.

At nine o’clock Madame Saxe came in, her lover was losing.

“Now, sir,” she said to me, “you may fairly yield.”

“Madam,” said I, “in hope of pleasing you, I will gladly divide the stakes and rise from the table.”

The tone of exaggerated gallantry with which I pronounced these words, put d’Entragues into a rage, and he answered sharply that he would not desist till one of us was dead.

With a glance at the lady which was meant to be lovelorn, but which must have been extremely languid in my exhausted state, I said —

“You see, Madam, that I am not the more obstinate of the two.”

A dish of soup was served to us, but d’Entragues, who was in the last stage of exhaustion, had no sooner swallowed the soup than he fell from his chair in a dead faint. He was soon taken up, and after I had given six louis to the marker who had been watching for forty-eight hours, I pocketed the gold, and went to the apothecary’s where I took a mild emetic. Afterwards I went to bed and slept for a few hours, and at three o’clock I made an excellent dinner.

D’Entragues remained in his room till the next day. I expected a quarrel, but the night brings counsel, and I made a mistake. As soon as he saw me he ran up to me and embraced me, saying —

“I made a silly bet, but you have given me a lesson which will last me all my days, and I am much obliged to you for it.”

“I am delighted to hear it, provided that your health has not suffered.”

“No, I am quite well, but we will play no more together.”

“Well, I hope we shan’t play against each other any more.”

In the course of eight or ten days I took Madame d’Urfe and the pretended Lascaris to Bale. We put up at the inn of the famous Imhoff, who swindled us, but, all the same, the “Three Kings” is the best inn in the town. I think I have noted that noon at Bale is at eleven o’clock — an absurdity due to some historic event, which I had explained to me but have forgotten. The inhabitants are said to be subject to a kind of madness, of which they are cured by taking the waters of Sulzbach; but they ‘get it again as soon as they return.

We should have stayed at Bale some time, if it had not been for an incident which made me hasten our departure. It was as follows:

My necessities had obliged me to forgive the Corticelli to a certain extent, and when I came home early I spent the night with her; but when I came home late, as often happened, I slept in my own room. The little hussy, in the latter case, slept also alone in a room next to her mother’s, through whose chamber one had to pass to get to the daughter’s.

One night I came in at one o’clock, and not feeling inclined to sleep, I took a candle and went in search of my charmer. I was rather surprised to find Signora Laura’s door half open, and just as I was going in the old woman came forward and took me by the arm, begging me not to go into her daughter’s room.

“Why?” said I.

“She has been very poorly all the evening, and she is in need of sleep.”

“Very good; then I will sleep too.”

So saying I pushed the mother to one side, and entering the girl’s room I found her in bed with someone who was hiding under the sheets.

I ‘gazed at the picture for a moment and then began to laugh, and sitting down on the bed begged to enquire the name of the happy individual whom I should have the pleasure of throwing out of the window. On a chair I saw the coat, trousers, hat, and cane of the gentleman; but as I had my two trusty pistols about me I knew I had nothing to fear; however, I did not want to make a noise.

With tears in her eyes, and trembling all over, the girl took my hand and begged me to forgive her.

“It’s a young lord,” said she, “and I don’t even know his name.”

“Oh, he is a young lord, is he? and you don’t know his name, you little hussy, don’t you? Well, he will tell me himself.”

So saying, I took a pistol and vigorously stripped the sheets off the cuckoo who had got into my nest. I saw the face of a young man whom I did not know, his head covered with a nightcap, but the rest perfectly naked, as indeed was my mistress. He turned his back to me to get his shirt which he had thrown on the floor, but seizing him by the arm I held him firmly, with my pistol to his forehead.

“Kindly tell me your name, fair sir.”

“I am Count B— — canon of Bale.”

“And do you think you have been performing an ecclesiastical function here?”

“No sir, no, and I hope you will forgive me and the lady too, for I am the only guilty party.”

“I am not asking you whether she is guilty or not.”

“Sir, the countess is perfectly innocent.”

I felt in a good temper, and far from being angry I was strongly inclined to laugh. I found the picture before me an attractive one; it was amusing and voluptuous. The sight of the two nudities on the bed was a truly lascivious one, and I remained contemplating it in silence for a quarter of an hour, occupied in resisting a strong temptation to take off my clothes and lie beside them. The only thing which prevented my yielding to it was the fear that I might find the canon to be a fool, incapable of playing the part with dignity. As for the Corticelli, she soon passed from tears to laughter, and would have done it well, but if, as I feared, the canon was a blockhead, I should have been degrading myself.

I felt certain that neither of them had guessed my thoughts, so I rose and told the canon to put on his clothes.

“No one must hear anything more of this,” said I, “but you and I will go to a distance of two hundred paces and burn a little powder.”

“No, no, sir,” cried my gentleman, “you may take me where you like, and kill me if you please, but I was not meant for a fighting man.”

“Really?”

“Yes, sir, and I only became a priest to escape the fatal duty of duelling.”

“Then you are a coward, and will not object to a good thrashing?”

“Anything you like, but it would be cruelty, for my love blinded me. I only came here a quarter of an hour ago, and the countess and her governess were both asleep.”

“You are a liar.”

“I had only just taken off my shirt when you came, and I have never seen this angel before.”

“And that’s gospel truth,” said the Corticelli.

“Are you aware that you are a couple of impudent scoundrels? And as for you, master canon, you deserve to be roasted like St. Laurence.”

In the meanwhile the wretched ecclesiastic had huddled on his clothes.

“Follow me, sir,” said I, in a tone which froze the marrow of his bones; and I accordingly took him to my room.

“What will you do,” said I, “if I forgive you and let you go without putting you to shame?”

“I will leave in an hour and a half, and you shall never see me here again; but even if we meet in the future, you will find me always ready to do you a service.”

“Very good. Begone, and in the future take more precautions in your amorous adventures.”

After this I went to bed, well pleased with what I had seen and what I had done, for I now had complete power over the Corticelli.

In the morning I called on her as soon as I got up, and told her to pack up her things, forbidding her to leave her room till she got into the carriage.

“I shall say I am ill.”

“Just as you please, but nobody will take any notice of you.”

I did not wait for her to make any further objections, but proceeded to tell the tale of what had passed to Madame d’Urfe, slightly embroidering the narrative. She laughed heartily, and enquired of the oracle what must be done with the Lascaris after her evident pollution by the evil genius disguised as a priest. The oracle replied that we must set out the next day for Besancon, whence she would go to Lyons and await me there, while I would take the countess to Geneva, and thus send her back to her native country.

The worthy visionary was enchanted with this arrangement, and saw in it another proof of the benevolence of Selenis, who would thus give her an opportunity of seeing young Aranda once more. It was agreed that I was to rejoin her in the spring of the following year, to perform the great operation which was to make her be born a man. She had not the slightest doubts as to the reasonableness of this performance.

All was ready, and the next day we started; Madame d’Urfe and I in the travelling carriage, and the Corticelli, her mother, and the servants in another conveyance.

When we got to Besancon Madame d’Urfe left me, and on the next day I journeyed towards Geneva with the mother and daughter.

On the way I not only did not speak to my companions, I did not so much as look at them. I made them have their meals with a servant from the Franche Comte, whom I had taken on M. de Schaumburg’s recommendation.

I went to my banker, and asked him to get me a good coachman, who would take two ladies of my acquaintance to Turin.

When I got back to the inn I wrote to the Chevalier Raiberti, sending him a bill of exchange. I warned him that in three or four days after the receipt of my letter he would be accosted by a Bolognese dancer and her mother, bearing a letter of commendation. I begged him to see that they lodged in a respectable house, and to pay for them on my behalf. I also said that I should be much obliged if he would contrive that she should dance, even for nothing, at the carnival, and I begged him to warn her that, if I heard any tales about her when I came to Turin, our relations would be at an end.

The following day a clerk of M. Tronchin’s brought a coachman for me to see. The man said he was ready to start as soon as he had had his dinner. I confirmed the agreement he had made with the banker, I summoned the two Corticellis, and said to the coachman,

“These are the persons you are to drive, and they will pay you when they reach Turin in safety with their luggage. You are to take four days and a half for the journey, as is stipulated in the agreement, of which they have one copy and you another.” An hour after he called to put the luggage in.

The Corticelli burst into tears, but I was not so cruel as to send her away without any consolation. Her bad conduct had been severely enough punished already. I made her dine with me, and as I gave her the letter for M. Raiberti, and twenty-five Louis for the journey, I told her what I had written to the gentleman, who would take good care of them. She asked me for a trunk containing three dresses and a superb mantle which Madame d’Urfe had given her before she became mad, but I said that we would talk of that at Turin. She dared not mention the casket, but continued weeping; however, she did not move me to pity. I left her much better off than when I first knew her; she had good clothes, good linen, jewels, and an exceedingly pretty watch I had given her; altogether a good deal more than she deserved.

As she was going I escorted her to the carriage, less for politeness’ sake than to commend her once more to the coachman. When she was fairly gone I felt as if a load had been taken off my back, and I went to look up my worthy syndic, whom the reader will not have forgotten. I had not written to him since I was in Florence, and I anticipated the pleasure of seeing his surprise, which was extreme. But after gazing at me for a moment he threw his arms round my neck, kissed me several times, and said he had not expected the pleasure of seeing me.

“How are our sweethearts getting on?”

“Excellently. They are always talking about you and regretting your absence; they will go wild with joy when they know you are here.”

“You must tell them directly, then.”

“I will go and warn them that we shall all sup together this evening. By the way, M. de Voltaire has given up his house at Delices to M. de Villars, and has gone to live at Ferney.”

“That makes no difference to me, as I was not thinking of calling on him this time. I shall be here for two or three weeks, and I mean to devote my time to you.”

“You are too good.”

“Will you give me writing materials before you go out? I will write a few letters while you are away.”

He put me in possession of his desk, and I wrote to my late housekeeper, Madame Lebel, telling her that I was going to spend three weeks at Geneva, and that if I were sure of seeing her I would gladly pay a visit to Lausanne. Unfortunately, I also wrote to the bad Genoese poet, Ascanio Pogomas, or Giaccomo Passano, whom I had met at Leghorn. I told him to go to Turin and to wait for me there. At the same time I wrote to M. F— — to whom I had commended him, asking him to give the poet twelve Louis for the journey.

My evil genius made me think of this man, who was an imposing- looking fellow, and had all the air of a magician, to introduce him to Madame d’Urfe as a great adept. You will see, dear reader, in the course of a year whether I had reason to repent of this fatal inspiration.

As the syndic and I were on our way to our young friend’s house I saw an elegant English carriage for sale, and I exchanged it for mine, giving the owner a hundred Louis as well. While the bargain was going on the uncle of the young theologian who argued so well, and to whom I had given such pleasant lessons in physiology, came up to me, embraced me, and asked me to dine with him the next day.

Before we got to the house the syndic informed me that we should find another extremely pretty but uninitiated girl present.

“All the better,” said I, “I shall know how to regulate my conduct, and perhaps I may succeed in initiating her.”

In my pocket I had placed a casket containing a dozen exquisite rings. I had long been aware that such trifling presents are often very serviceable.

The moment of meeting those charming girls once more was one of the happiest I have ever enjoyed. In their greeting I read delight and love of pleasure. Their love was without envy or jealousy, or any ideas which would have injured their self-esteem. They felt worthy of my regard, as they had lavished their favours on me without any degrading feelings, and drawn by the same emotion that had drawn me.

The presence of the neophyte obliged us to greet each other with what is called decency, and she allowed me to kiss her without raising her eyes, but blushing violently.

After the usual commonplaces had passed and we had indulged in some double meanings which made us laugh and her look thoughtful, I told her she was pretty as a little love, and that I felt sure that her mind, as beautiful as its casket, could harbour no prejudices.

“I have all the prejudices which honour and religion suggest,” she modestly replied.

I saw that this was a case requiring very delicate treatment. There was no question of carrying the citadel by sudden assault. But, as usual, I fell in love with her.

The syndic having pronounced my name, she said —

“Ah! then, you, sir, are the person who discussed some very singular questions with my cousin, the pastor’s niece. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“I am equally pleased to make yours, but I hope the pastor’s niece said nothing against me.”

“Not at all; she has a very high opinion of you.”

“I am going to dine with her to-morrow, and I shall take care to thank her.”

“To-morrow! I should like to be there, for I enjoy philosophical discussions though I never dare to put a word in.”

The syndic praised her discretion and wisdom in such a manner that I was convinced he was in love with her, and that he had either seduced her or was trying to do so. Her name was Helen. I asked the young ladies if Helen was their sister. The eldest replied, with a sly smile, that she was a sister, but as yet she had no brother; and with this explanation she ran up to Helen and kissed her. Then the syndic and I vied with each other in paying her compliments, telling her that we hoped to be her brothers. She blushed, but gave no answer to our gallantries. I then drew forth my casket, and seeing that all the girls were enchanted with the rings, I told them to choose which ones they liked best. The charming Helen imitated their example, and repaid me with a modest kiss. Soon after she left us, and we were once more free, as in old times.

The syndic had good cause to shew for his love of Helen. She was not merely pleasing, she was made to inspire a violent passion. However, the three friends had no hope of making her join in their pleasures, for they said that she had invincible feelings of modesty where men were concerned.

We supped merrily, and after supper we began our sports again, the syndic remaining as usual a mere looker-on, and well pleased with his part. I treated each of the three nymphs to two courses, deceiving them whenever I was forced by nature to do so. At midnight we broke up, and the worthy syndic escorted me to the door of my lodging.

The day following I went to the pastor’s and found a numerous party assembled, amongst others M. d’Harcourt and M. de Ximenes, who told me that M. de Voltaire knew that I was at Geneva and hoped to see me. I replied by a profound bow. Mdlle. Hedvig, the pastor’s niece, complimented me, but I was still better pleased to see her cousin Helen. The theologian of twenty-two was fair and pleasant to the eyes, but she had not that ‘je ne sais quoi’, that shade of bitter-sweet, which adds zest to hope as well as pleasure. However, the evident friendship between Hedvig and Helen gave me good hopes of success with the latter.

We had an excellent dinner, and while it lasted the conversation was restricted to ordinary topics; but at dessert the pastor begged M. de Ximenes to ask his niece some questions. Knowing his worldwide reputation, I expected him to put her some problem in geometry, but he only asked whether a lie could be justified on the principle of a mental reservation.

Hedvig replied that there are cases in which a lie is necessary, but that the principle of a mental reservation is always a cheat.

“Then how could Christ have said that the time in which the world was to come to an end was unknown to Him?”

“He was speaking the truth; it was not known to Him.”

“Then he was not God?”

“That is a false deduction, for since God may do all things, He may certainly be ignorant of an event in futurity.”

I thought the way in which she brought in the word “futurity” almost sublime. Hedvig was loudly applauded, and her uncle went all round the table to kiss her. I had a very natural objection on the tip of my tongue, which she might have found difficult to answer, but I wanted to get into her good graces and I kept my own counsel.

M. d’Harcourt was urged to ask her some questions, but he replied in the words of Horace, ‘Nulla mihi religio est’. Then Hedvig turned to me and asked me to put her some hard question, “something difficult, which you don’t know yourself.”

“I shall be delighted. Do you grant that a god possesses in a supreme degree the qualities of man?”

“Yes, excepting man’s weaknesses.”

“Do you class the generative power as a weakness?”

“No.”

“Will you tell me, then, of what nature would have been the offspring of a union between a god and a mortal woman?”

Hedvig looked as red as fire.

The pastor and the other guests looked at each other, while I gazed fixedly at the young theologian, who was reflecting. M. d’Harcourt said that we should have to send for Voltaire to settle a question so difficult, but as Hedvig had collected her thoughts and seemed ready to speak everybody was silent.

“It would be absurd,” said she, “to suppose that a deity could perform such an action without its having any results. At the end of nine months a woman would be delivered a male child, which would be three parts man and one part god.”

At these words all the guests applauded, M. de Ximenes expressed his admiration of the way the question had been solved, adding —

“Naturally, if the son of the woman married, his children would be seven-eighths men and one-eighth gods.”

“Yes,” said I, “unless he married a goddess, which would have made the proportion different.”

“Tell me exactly,” said Hedvig, “what proportion of divinity there would be in a child of the sixteenth generation.”

“Give me a pencil and I will soon tell you,” said M. de Ximenes.

“There is no need to calculate it,” said I; “the child would have some small share of the wit which you enjoy.”

Everybody applauded this gallant speech, which did not by any means offend the lady to whom it was addressed.

This pretty blonde was chiefly desirable for the charms of her intellect. We rose from the table and made a circle round her, but she told us with much grace not to pay her any more compliments.

I took Helen aside, and told her to get her cousin to choose a ring from my casket, which I gave her, and she seemed glad to execute the commission. A quarter of an hour afterwards Hedvig came to shew me her hand adorned with the ring she had chosen. I kissed it rapturously, and she must have guessed from the warmth of my kisses with what feelings she had inspired me.

In the evening Helen told the syndic and the three girls all about the morning’s discussion without leaving out the smallest detail. She told the story with ease and grace, and I had no occasion to prompt her. We begged her to stay to supper, but she whispered something to the three friends, and they agreed that it was impossible; but she said that she might spend a couple of days with them in their country house on the lake, if they would ask her mother.

At the syndic’s request the girls called on the mother the next day, and the day after that they went off with Helen. The same evening we went and supped with them, but we could not sleep there. The syndic was to take me to a house at a short distance off, where we should be very comfortable. This being the case there was no hurry, and the eldest girl said that the syndic and I could leave whenever we liked, but that they were going to bed. So saying she took Helen to her room, while the two others slept in another room. Soon after the syndic went into the room where Helen was, and I visited the two others.

I had scarcely been with my two sweethearts for an hour when the syndic interrupted my erotic exploits by begging me to go.

“What have you done with Helen?” I asked.

“Nothing; she’s a simpleton, and an intractable one. She hid under the sheets and would not look at my performance with her friend.”

“You ought to go to her direct.”

“I have done so, but she repulsed me again and again. I have given it up, and shall not try it again, unless you will tame her for me.”

“How is it to be done?”

“Come to dinner to-morrow. I shall be away at Geneva. I shall be back by supper-time. I wish we could give her too much to drink!”

“That would be a pity. Let me see what I can do.”

I accordingly went to dine with them by myself the next day, and they entertained me in all the force of the word. After dinner we went for a walk, and the three friends understanding my aims left me alone with the intractable girl, who resisted my caresses in a manner which almost made me give up the hope of taming her.

“The syndic,” said I, “is in love with you, and last night . . .

“Last night,” she said, “he amused himself with his old friend. I am for everyone’s following their own tastes, but I expect to be allowed to follow mine.”

“If I could gain your heart I should be happy.”

“Why don’t you invite the pastor and my cousin to dine with you? I could come too, for the pastor makes much of everyone who loves his niece.”

“I am glad to hear that. Has she a lover?”

“No.”

“I can scarcely believe it. She is young, pretty, agreeable, and very clever.”

“You don’t understand Genevan ways. It is because she is so clever that no young man falls in love with her. Those who might be attracted by her personal charms hold themselves aloof on account of her intellectual capacities, as they would have to sit in silence before her.”

“Are the young Genevans so ignorant, then?”

“As a rule they are. Some of them have received excellent educations, but in a general way they are full of prejudice. Nobody wishes to be considered a fool or a blockhead, but clever women are not appreciated; and if a girl is witty or well educated she endeavors to hide her lights, at least if she desires to be married.”

“Ah! now I see why you did not open your lips during our discussion.”

“No, I know I have nothing to hide. This was not the motive which made me keep silence, but the pleasure of listening. I admired my cousin, who was not afraid to display her learning on a subject which any other girl would have affected to know nothing about.”

“Yes, affected, though she might very probably know as much as her grandmother.”

“That’s a matter of morals, or rather of prejudices.”

“Your reasoning is admirable, and I am already longing for the party you so cleverly suggested:”

“You will have the pleasure of being with my cousin.”

“I do her justice. Hedvig is certainly a very interesting and agreeable girl, but believe me it is your presence that will constitute my chief enjoyment.”

“And how if I do not believe you?”

“You would wrong me and give me pain, for I love you dearly.”

“In spite of that you have deceived me. I am sure that you have given marks of your affection to those three young ladies. For my part I pity them.”

“Why?”

“Because neither of them can flatter herself that you love her, and her alone.”

“And do you think that your delicacy of feeling makes you happier than they are?”

“Yes, I think so though of course, I have no experience in the matter. Tell me truly, do you think I am right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I am delighted to hear it; but you must confess that to associate me with them in your attentions would not be giving me the greatest possible proof of your love.”

“Yes, I do confess it, and I beg your pardon. But tell me how I should set to work to ask the pastor to dinner.”

“There will be no difficulty. Just call on him and ask him to come, and if you wish me to be of the party beg him to ask my mother and myself.”

“Why your mother?”

“Because he has been in love with her these twenty years, and loves her still.”

“And where shall I give this dinner?”

“Is not M. Tronchin your banker?”

“Yes.”

“He has a nice pleasure house on the lake; ask him to lend it you for the day; he will be delighted to do so. But don’t tell the syndic or his three friends anything about it; they can hear of it afterwards.”

“But do you think your learned cousin will be glad to be in my company?”

“More than glad, you may be sure.”

“Very good, everything will be arranged by tomorrow. The day after, you will be returning to Geneva, and the party will take place two or three days later.”

The syndic came back in due course, and we had a very pleasant evening. After supper the ladies went to bed as before, and I went with the eldest girl while the syndic visited the two younger ones. I knew that it would be of no use to try to do anything with Helen, so I contented myself with a few kisses, after which I wished them good night and passed on to the next room. I found them in a deep sleep, and the syndic seemed visibly bored. He did not look more cheerful when I told him that I had had no success with Helen.

“I see,” said he, “that I shall waste my time with the little fool. I think I shall give her up.”

“I think that’s the best thing you could do,” I replied, “for a man who languishes after a woman who is either devoid of feeling or full of caprice, makes himself her dupe. Bliss should be neither too easy nor too hard to be won.”

The next day we returned to Geneva, and M. Tronchin seemed delighted to oblige me. The pastor accepted my invitation, and said I was sure to be charmed with Helen’s mother. It was easy to see that the worthy man cherished a tenderness for her, and if she responded at all it would be all the better for my purposes.

I was thinking of supping with the charming Helen and her three friends at the house on the lake, but an express summoned me to Lausanne. Madame Lebel, my old housekeeper, invited me to sup with her and her husband. She wrote that she had made her husband promise to take her to Lausanne as soon as she got my letter, and she added she was sure that I would resign everything to give her the pleasure of seeing me. She notified the hour at which she would be at her mother’s house.

Madame Lebel was one of the ten or twelve women for whom in my happy youth I cherished the greatest affection. She had all the qualities to make a man a good wife, if it had been my fate to experience such felicity. But perhaps I did well not to tie myself down with irrevocable bonds, though now my independence is another name for slavery. But if I had married a woman of tact, who would have ruled me unawares to myself, I should have taken care of my fortune and have had children, instead of being lonely and penniless in my old age.

But I must indulge no longer in digressions on the past which cannot be recalled, and since my recollections make me happy I should be foolish to cherish idle regrets.

I calculated that if I started directly I should get to Lausanne an hour before Madame Lebel, and I did not hesitate to give her this proof of my regard. I must here warn my readers, that, though I loved this woman well, I was then occupied with another passion, and no voluptuous thought mingled with my desire of seeing her. My esteem for her was enough to hold my passions in check, but I esteemed Lebel too, and nothing would have induced me to disturb the happiness of this married pair.

I wrote in haste to the syndic, telling him that an important and sudden call obliged me to start for Lausanne, but that I should have the pleasure of supping with him and his three friends at Geneva on the following day.

I knocked at Madame Dubois’s door at five o’clock, almost dying with hunger. Her surprise was extreme, for she did not know that her daughter was going to meet me at her house. Without more ado I gave her two louis to get us a good supper.

At seven o’clock, Madame Lebel, her husband, and a child of eighteen months, whom I easily recognized as my own, arrived. Our meeting was a happy one indeed; we spent ten hours at table, and mirth and joy prevailed. At day-break she started for Soleure, where Lebel had business. M. de Chavigni had desired to be remembered most affectionately to me. Lebel assured me that the ambassador was extremely kind to his wife, and he thanked me heartily for having given such a woman up to him. I could easily see that he was a happy husband, and that his w............