but I was
not. The enormous expenses I incurred, my love of spending money, and
magnificent pleasures, warned me, in spite of myself, that there were
rocks ahead. My business would have kept me going for a long time, if
custom had not been paralyzed by the war; but as it was, I, like
everybody else, experienced the effect of bad times. My warehouse
contained four hundred pieces of stuffs with designs on them, but as I
could not hope to dispose of them before the peace, and as peace seemed a
long way off, I was threatened with ruin.

With this fear I wrote to Esther to get her father to give me the
remainder of my money, to send me a sharp clerk, and to join in my
speculation. M. d'O---- said that if I would set up in Holland he would
become responsible for everything and give me half profits, but I liked
Paris too well to agree to so good an offer. I was sorry for it
afterwards.

I spent a good deal of money at my private house, but the chief expense
of my life, which was unknown to others but which was ruining me, was
incurred in connection with the girls who worked in my establishment.
With my complexion and my pronounced liking for variety, a score of
girls, nearly all of them pretty and seductive, as most Paris girls are,
was a reef on which my virtue made shipwreck every day. Curiosity had a
good deal to do with it, and they profited by my impatience to take
possession by selling their favours dearly. They all followed the example
of the first favourite, and everyone claimed in turn an establishment,
furniture, money, and jewels; and I knew too little of the value of money
to care how much they asked. My fancy never lasted longer than a week,
and often waned in three or four days, and the last comer always appeared
the most worthy of my attentions.

As soon as I had made a new choice I saw no more of my old loves, but I
continued to provide for them, and that with a good deal of money. Madame
d'Urfe, who thought I was rich, gave me no trouble. I made her happy by
using my oracle to second the magical ceremonies of which she grew fonder
every day, although she never attained her aim. Manon Baletti, however,
grieved me sorely by her jealousy and her well-founded reproaches. She
would not understand--and I did not wonder at it--how I could put off
marrying her if I really loved her. She accused me of deceiving her. Her
mother died of consumption in our arms. Silvia had won my true
friendship. I looked upon her as a