red, and joined company
with the priest.

I found her plunged in affliction, pale, and weeping. No sooner did she
set eyes upon me, than she bent her forehead and abandoned herself to
tears. "With the escort of this minister of our religion," I began, "I
have come to express my sincere sorrow for your loss, and to lay my
services at your disposal." Her sobs redoubled; and without lifting her
eyes to mine, she broke into these words: "I deserve nothing at your
hands." Then a storm of crying and of sobs interrupted her utterance.
My heart was touched. But reason, or hardness, came to my aid. After
expressing a few commonplaces, such as are usually employed about the
dead, and renewing my proffer of assistance, I departed with the priest.

A full month elapsed before I set eyes on her again. It chanced that I
had commissioned a certain tailoress to make me a waistcoat. Meeting me
in the road, this woman said that she had lost my measure, and asked
whether I would come that evening and let her measure me again. I went,
and on entering a room, to which she introduced me, was stupefied to
find my mistress sitting there in mourning raiment of black silk.[7] I
swear that Andromache, the widow of Hector, was not so lovely as she
looked. She rose on my approach, and began to speak: "I know that you
have a right to be surprised at my boldness in seeking an occasion to
meet with you. I hesitated whether I ought or ought not to communicate a
certain matter to you. At last I thought that I should be doing wrong
unless I told you. I have received offers of marriage from an honest
merchant. You remember what I told you about my father; and now he is
moving heaven and earth to get me under his protection with my little
property. I sought this opportunity of speaking with you, merely that I
might be able to swear to you by all that is most sacred, that I would
gladly refuse any happiness in this life for the felicity of dying in
the arms of such a friend as you are. I am well aware that I have
forfeited this good fortune; how I hardly know, and by whose fault I
could not say. I do not wish to affront you, nor yet the intriguer whom
you call your friend; I am ready to take all the blame on my own
shoulders. Accept, at any rate, the candid oath which I have uttered,
and leave me to my remorseful reflections." Having spoken these words,
she resumed her seat and wept. Armed as I was with reason, I confess
that she almost made me yield to he