to keep his numerous family. "I
do not blush," he added, "in begging from you one sequin which will keep
us alive for five or six days." I immediately gave him ten, trying to
prevent him from lowering himself in his anxiety to express his
gratitude, but I could not prevent him from shedding tears. As we parted,
he told me that what made him most miserable was to see the position of
his daughter, who had become a great beauty, and would rather die than
make a sacrifice of her virtue. "I can neither support her in those
feelings," he said, with a sigh, "nor reward her for them."

Thinking that I understood the wishes with which misery had inspired him,
I took his address, and promised to pay him a visit. I was curious to see
what had become of a virtue of which I did not entertain a very high
opinion. I called the next day. I found a house almost bare of furniture,
and the daughter alone--a circumstance which did not astonish me. The
young countess had seen me arrive, and received me on the stairs in the
most amiable manner. She was pretty well dressed, and I thought her
handsome, agreeable, and lively, as she had been when I made her
acquaintance in Fort St. Andre. Her father having announced my visit, she
was in high spirits, and she kissed me with as much tenderness as if I
had been a beloved lover. She took me to her own room, and after she had
informed me that her mother was ill in bed and unable to see me, she gave
way again to the transport of joy which, as she said, she felt in seeing
me again. The ardour of our mutual kisses, given at first under the
auspices of friendship, was not long in exciting our senses to such an
extent that in less than a quarter of an hour I had nothing more to
desire. When it was all over, it became us both, of course, to be, or at
least to appear to be, surprised at what had taken place, and I could not
honestly hesitate to assure the poor countess that it was only the first
token of a constant and true love. She believed it, or she feigned to
believe it, and perhaps I myself fancied it was true--for the moment.
When we had become calm again, she told me the fearful state to which
they were reduced, her brothers walking barefooted in the streets, and
her father having positively no bread to give them.

"Then you have not any lover?"

"What? a lover! Where could I find a man courageous enough to be my lover
in such a house as this? Am I a woman to sell myself to the first comer
for th