said, "who put up that notice that amused
all the town?"

"I am."

"They say the joke cost you dear."

"Quite the reverse; it resulted in the greatest happiness."

"But now that the beloved object has left you, I suppose you are
unhappy?"

"I am; but there are sorrows so sweet that they are almost joys."

"Nobody knows who she was, but I suppose you do?"

"Yes."

"Do you make a mystery of it?"

"Surely, and I would rather die than reveal it."

"Ask my aunt if I may take some rooms in your house; but I am afraid my
mother would not let me."

"Why do you want to lodge cheaply?"

"I don't want to lodge cheaply, but I should like to punish the audacious
author of that notice."

"How would you punish me?"

"By making you fall in love with me, and then tormenting you. It would
have amused me immensely."

"Then you think that you can inspire me with love, and at the same time
form the dreadful plan of tyrannising over the victim of your charms.
Such a project is monstrous, and unhappily for us poor men, you do not
look a monster. Nevertheless, I am obliged to you for your frankness, and
I shall be on my guard."

"Then you must take care never to see me, or else all your efforts will
be in vain."

As the Charpillon had laughed merrily through the whole of this dialogue,
I took it all as a jest, but I could not help admiring her manner, which
seemed made for the subjugation of men. But though I knew it not, the day
I made that woman's acquaintance was a luckless one for me, as my readers
will see.

It was towards the end of the month of September, 1763, when I met the
Charpillon, and from that day I began to die. If the lines of ascent and
declination are equal, now, on the first day of November, 1797, I have
about four more years of life to reckon on, which will pass by swiftly,
according to the axiom 'Motus in fine velocior'.

The Charpillon, who was well known in London, and I believe is still
alive, was one of those beauties in whom it is difficult to find any
positive fault. Her hair was chestnut coloured, and astonishingly long
and thick, her blue eyes were at once languorous and brilliant, her skin,
faintly tinged with a rosy hue, was of a dazzling whiteness; she was tall
for her age, and seemed likely to become as tall as Pauline. Her breast
was perhaps a little small, but perfectly shaped, her hands were white
and plump, her feet small, and her gait had something noble and gracious.
Her featur