est,
find pleasure in anything that would weary you."

The very next morning she had an excellent violoncello, and, far from
wearying me, each time she played she caused me a new and greater
pleasure. I believe that it would be impossible even to a man disliking
music not to become passionately fond of it, if that art were practised
to perfection by the woman he adores.

The 'vox humana' of the violoncello; the king of instruments, went to my
heart every time that my beloved Henriette performed upon it. She knew I
loved to hear her play, and every day she afforded me that pleasure. Her
talent delighted me so much that I proposed to her to give some concerts,
but she was prudent enough to refuse my proposal. But in spite of all her
prudence we had no power to hinder the decrees of fate.

The fatal hunchback came the day after his fine supper to thank us and to
receive our well-merited praises of his concert, his supper, and the
distinction of his guests.

"I foresee, madam," he said to Henriette, "all the difficulty I shall
have in defending myself against the prayers of all my friends, who will
beg of me to introduce them to you."

"You need not have much trouble on that score: you know that I never,
receive anyone."

Dubois did not again venture upon speaking of introducing any friend.

On the same day I received a letter from young Capitani, in which he
informed me that, being the owner of St. Peter's knife and sheath, he had
called on Franzia with two learned magicians who had promised to raise
the treasure out of the earth, and that to his great surprise Franzia had
refused to receive him: He entreated me to write to the worthy fellow,
and to go to him myself if I wanted to have my share of the treasure. I
need not say that I did not comply with his wishes, but I can vouch for
the real pleasure I felt in finding that I had succeeded in saving that
honest and simple farmer from the impostors who would have ruined him.

One month was gone since the great supper given by Dubois. We had passed
it in all the enjoyment which can be derived both from the senses and the
mind, and never had one single instant of weariness caused either of us
to be guilty of that sad symptom of misery which is called a yawn. The
only pleasure we took out of doors was a drive outside of the city when
the weather was fine. As we never walked in the streets, and never
frequented any public place, no one had sought to make our acquaintanc