s;
she could not have played the love-sick girl better.

We fixed a day for the dress-rehearsal at the theatre, and the company
announced the first night a week in advance to excite public curiosity.
The bills ran:

"We shall give Voltaire's Ecossaise, translated by an anonymous author:
no prompter will be present."

I cannot give the reader any idea of the trouble I had to quiet Rosalie.
She refused to be comforted; wept incessantly, and touched my heart by
gentle reproaches.

"You love Veronique," said she, "and you only translated that piece to
have an opportunity of declaring your love."

I succeeded in convincing her that she wronged me, and at last after I
had lavished caresses on her she suffered herself to be calmed. Next
morning she begged pardon for her jealousy, and to cure it insisted on my
speaking constantly to Veronique. Her heroism went farther. She got up
before me and sent me my coffee by Veronique, who was as astonished as I
was.

At heart Rosalie was a great creature, capable of noble resolves, but
like all women she gave way to sudden emotions. From that day she gave me
no more signs of jealousy, and treated her maid with more kindness than
ever. Veronique was an intelligent and well-mannered girl, and if my
heart had not been already occupied she would have reigned there.

The first night of the play I took Rosalie to a box, and she would have
Veronique with her. M. de Grimaldi did not leave her for a moment. The
play was praised to the skies; the large theatre was full of the best
people in Genoa. The actors surpassed themselves, though they had no
prompter, and were loudly applauded. The piece ran five nights and was
performed to full houses. Rossi, hoping perhaps that I would make him a
present of another play, asked my leave to give my lady a superb pelisse
of lynx-fur, which pleased her immensely.

I would have done anything to spare my sweetheart the least anxiety, and
yet from my want of thought I contrived to vex her. I should never have
forgiven myself if Providence had not ordained that I should be the cause
of her final happiness.

"I have reason to suspect," she said one day, "that I am with child, and
I am enchanted at the thought of giving you a dear pledge of my love."

"If it comes at such a time it will be mine, and I assure you I shall
love it dearly."

"And if it comes two or three weeks sooner you will not be sure that you
are the parent?"

"Not quite sure; but I