us alone.

"My dear Clementine, tell me frankly whether the rather uncivil way in
which I have treated the abbe has pained you. I am going to give you
twenty sequins, do you send them to him, and to-night he can pay me
honourably, and make a good figure. I promise you no one shall know about
it."

"Thank you, but the honour of the abbe is not dear enough to me for me to
accept your offer. The lesson will do him good. A little shame will teach
him that he must mend his ways."

"You will see he won't come this evening."

"That may be, but do you think I shall care?"

"Well--yes, I did think so."

"Because we joked together, I suppose. He is a hare-brained fellow, to
whom I do not give two thoughts in the year."

"I pity him, as heartily as I congratulate anyone of whom you do think."

"Maybe there is no such person"

"What! You have not yet met a man worthy of your regard?"

"Many worthy of regard, but none of love."

"Then you have never been in love?"

"Never."

"Your heart is empty?"

"You make me laugh. Is it happiness, is it unhappiness? Who can say. If
it be happiness, I am glad, and if it be unhappiness, I do not care, for
I do not feel it to be so."

"Nevertheless, it is a misfortune, and you will know it to have been so
on the day in which you love."

"And if I become unhappy through love, shall I not pronounce my emptiness
of heart to have been happiness."

"I confess you would be right, but I am sure love would make you happy."

"I do not know. To be happy one must live in perfect agreement; that is
no easy matter, and I believe it to be harder still when the bond is
lifelong."

"I agree, but God sent us into the world that we might run the risk"

"To a man it may be a necessity and a delight, but a girl is bound by
stricter laws."

"In nature the necessity is the same though the results are different,
and the laws you speak of are laid down by society."

The count came in at this point and was astonished to see us both
together.

"I wish you would fall in love with one another," said he.

"You wish to see us unhappy, do you?" said she.

"What do you mean by that?" I cried.

"I should be unhappy with an inconstant lover, and you would be unhappy
too, for you would feel bitter remorse for having destroyed my peace of
mind."

After this she discreetly fled.

I remained still as if she had petrified me, but the count who never
wearied himself with too much thinking, exclaimed