nine virtue. My opinion is quite different. The most skilful
arithmetician could not calculate the number of my conquests. I take my
pastime, and let others take theirs." "If a ram could talk," I answered,
"and if I were to question him about his love-affairs with the ewes of
his flock, he would express precisely the same sentiments as yours."
"Well, well!" he retorted: "you are young yet. A few years will teach
you that, as regards the sex you reverence, I am a better philosopher
than you are. That little blonde, by the way, has taken my fancy. The
other woman told me where she lives. To-morrow I mean to attack the
fortress, and I will duly report my victory to you." "Go where you
like," I said: "but you won't catch me again with women at the play or
in a restaurant."

He retired to sleep and dream of the blonde. I went to bed with thoughts
gnawing and a tempest in my soul, which kept me wide-awake all night.
Early next morning my friend took his walks abroad, and at dinner-time
he returned to inform me with amazement that the blonde was an inhuman
tigress; all his artifices had not succeeded in subduing her. "She may
thank heaven," he continued, "that I must quit Venice to-night. The
prudish chatter-box has put me on my mettle. I should like to see two
days pass before I stormed the citadel and made her my victim." He went
away, leaving me to the tormenting thoughts which preyed upon my mind.

I was resolved to break at once and for ever with the woman who had been
my one delight through a whole year. Yet the image of her beauty, her
tenderness, our mutual transports, her modesty and virtue in the midst
of self-abandonment to love, assailed my heart and sapped my resolution.
I felt it would be some relief to cover her with reproaches. Then the
remembrance of the folly to which she had stooped, almost before my very
eyes, returned to my assistance, and I was on the point of hating her.
Ten days passed in this contention of the spirit, which consumed my
flesh. At last one morning the pebble flew into my chamber. I picked it
up, without showing my head above the window, and read the scroll it
carried. Among the many papers I have committed to the flames, I never
had the heart to burn this. The novel and bizzarre self-defence which it
contains made it too precious in my judgment. Here, then, I present it
in full. Only the spelling has been corrected.

"You are right. I have done wrong, and do not deserve forgiveness. I