is instead of one,
provided that she was not tied. Her aunt assured me that this was not the
case; but I could not help thinking of Victorine.

Raton came to supper with her aunt, who went to bed in an adjoining
closet when the dessert was brought in. The girl's figure was exquisitely
beautiful, and I felt that I had no small task before me. She was kind,
laughing, and defied me to the conquest of a fleece not of gold, but of
ebony, which the youth of Metz had assaulted in vain. Perhaps the reader
will think that I, who was no longer in my first vigour, was discouraged
by the thought of the many who had failed; but I knew my powers, and it
only amused me. Her former lovers had been Frenchmen, more skilled in
carrying strong places by assault than in eluding the artfulness of a
girl who corked herself up. I was an Italian, and knew all about that, so
I had no doubts as to my victory.

However, my preparations were superfluous; for as soon as Raton felt from
my mode of attack that the trick would be of no avail she met my desires
half-way, without trying the device which had made her seem to be what
she was no longer to her inexpert lovers. She gave herself up in good
faith, and when I had promised to keep the secret her ardours were equal
to mine. It was not her first trial, and I consequently need not have
given her the twenty-five louis, but I was well satisfied, and not caring
much for maidenheads rewarded her as if I had been the first to bite at
the cherry.

I kept Raton at a louis a day till the arrival of the Corticelli, and she
had to be faithful to me, as I never let her go out of my sight. I liked
the girl so well and found her so pleasant that I was sorry that the
Corticelli was coming; however, I was told of her arrival one night just
as I was leaving my box at the theatre. My footman told me in a loud
voice that my lady wife, my daughter, and a gentleman had just arrived
from Frankfort, and were awaiting me at the inn.

"Idiot," I exclaimed, "I have no wife and no daughter."

However, all Metz heard that my family had arrived.

The Corticelli threw her arms round my neck, laughing as usual, and her
mother presented me to the worthy man who had accompanied them from
Prague to Metz. He was an Italian named Month, who had lived for a long
time at Prague, where he taught his native language. I saw that M. Month
and the old woman were suitably accommodated, and I then led the young
fool into my room. I foun