rocure the chafing-dish
and the spirits of wine she required for her own cooking.

Esther was an angel, a treasure, who consented to become mine if I would
communicate to her a science which did not exist. I felt that I was
looking forward to spending a happy day; this shewed me that I could
forget Manon, and I was delighted with the idea. I got out of bed, and
when Esther came back and found me on my feet she gave a skip of
pleasure. "Now," said she, "you must oblige me by dressing, and doing
your hair as if you were going to a ball."

"That," I answered, "is a funny idea, but as it pleases you it pleases
me."

I rang for Le Duc, and told him I wanted to have my hair done, and to be
dressed as if I were going to a ball. "Choose the dress that suits me
best."

"No," said Esther, "I will choose it myself."

Le Duc opened my trunk, and leaving her to rummage in it he came to shave
me, and to do my hair. Esther, delighted with her task, called in the
assistance of her governess. She put on my bed a lace shirt, and the suit
she found most to her taste. Then coming close, as if to see whether Le
Duc was dressing my hair properly, she said,

"A little broth would do you good; send for a dish, it will give you an
appetite for dinner."

I thought her advice dictated by the tenderest care, and I determined to
benefit by it. So great was the influence of this charming girl over me,
that, little by little, instead of loving Manon, I hated her. That gave
me courage, and completed my cure. At the present time I can see that
Manon was very wise in accepting Blondel's offer, and that my love for
self and not my love for her was wounded.

I was in my servant's hands, my face turned away towards the fire, so
that I could not see Esther, but only divert myself with the idea that
she was inspecting my belongings, when all at once she presented herself
with a melancholy air, holding Mamon's fatal letter in her hand.

"Am I to blame," said she, timidly, "for having discovered the cause of
your sorrow?"

I felt rather taken aback, but looking kindly at her, I said,

"No, no, my dear Esther; pity your friend, and say no more about it."

"Then I may read all the letters?"

"Yes, dearest, if it will amuse you."

All the letters of the faithless Manon Baletti to me, with mine to her,
were together on my table. I pointed them out to Esther, who begun to
read them quite eagerly.

When I was dressed, as if for some Court holiday,