ore that she would make me suffer
torments to which death is preferable by far. But why have you said no
more about the aroph? Is it not all a jest? It would be a very cruel
one."

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

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

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

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

I did not know what to make of this speech; for she knew I loved her, and
I did not see why she should put herself to the trouble of going far when
what she wanted was to her hand. I was inclined to think that she wanted
me to ask her to make choice of myself as the administrator of the
remedy, either to spare her modesty, or to have the merit of yielding to
my love and thus obliging me to be grateful; but I might be wrong, and I
did not care to expose myself to the humiliation of a refusal. On the
other hand I could hardly think she wanted to insult me. Not knowing what
to say or which way to turn, and wanting to draw an explanation from her,
I sighed profoundly, took up my hat, and made as if I were going,
exclaiming, "Cruel girl, my lot is more wretched than yours."

She raised herself in the bed and begged me with tears in her eyes to
remain, and asked me how I could call myself more wretched than her.
Pretending to be annoyed and yet full of love for her, I told h