As soon as she had opened her door, I entered her
room, and, cutting short her apologies for having kept me waiting, I
informed her of all I had heard.

Her features bore the stamp of deep sorrow, but she looked calmer, and
her complexion was no longer pale. She thought it unlikely that Steffani
would have left for any other place but for C----. Admitting the
possibility that she might be right, I immediately offered to go to
C---- myself, and to return without loss of time to fetch her, in case
Steffani should be there. Without giving her time to answer I told her
all the particulars I had learned concerning her honourable family, which
caused her real satisfaction.

"I have no objection," she said, "to your going to C----, and I thank you
for the generosity of your offer, but I beg you will postpone your
journey. I still hope that Steffani will return, and then I can take a
decision."

"I think you are quite right," I said. "Will you allow me to have some
breakfast with you?"

"Do you suppose I could refuse you?"

"I should be very sorry to disturb you in any way. How did you use to
amuse yourself at home?"

"I am very fond of books and music; my harpsichord was my delight."

I left her after breakfast, and in the evening I came back with a basket
full of good books and music, and I sent her an excellent harpsichord. My
kindness confused her, but I surprised her much more when I took out of
my pocket three pairs of slippers. She blushed, and thanked me with great
feeling. She had walked a long distance, her shoes were evidently worn
out, her feet sore, and she appreciated the delicacy of my present. As I
had no improper design with regard to her, I enjoyed her gratitude, and
felt pleased at the idea she evidently entertained of my kind attentions.
I had no other purpose in view but to restore calm to her mind, and to
obliterate the bad opinion which the unworthy Steffani had given her of
men in general. I never thought of inspiring her with love for me, and I
had not the slightest idea that I could fall in love with her. She was
unhappy, and her unhappiness--a sacred thing in my eyes--called all the
more for my most honourable sympathy, because, without knowing me, she
had given me her entire confidence. Situated as she was, I could not
suppose her heart susceptible of harbouring a new affection, and I would
have despised myself if I had tried to seduce her by any means in my
power.

I remained with her only