d then I
shall be happy indeed. What a charming creature she is? Have you ever
seen a woman like her? What a pity she is dumb!"

"She, no doubt, has a male water-spirit for a lover. But all of them are
dumb, since it is impossible to speak in the water. I wonder she is not
deaf as well. I can't think why you didn't touch her. The softness of her
skin is something wonderful--velvet and satin are not to be compared to
it! And then her breath is so sweet! How delighted I should be if I could
converse with such an exquisite being."

"Dear Galtinardus, I beg you will consult the oracle to find out where I
am to be brought to bed, and if you won't marry me I think I had better
save all I have that I may have some provision when I am born again, for
when I am born I shall know nothing, and money will be wanted to educate
me. By selling the whole a large sum might be realized which could be put
out at interest. Thus the interest would suffice without the capital
being touched."

"The oracle must be our guide," said I. "You will be my son, and I will
never allow anyone to call you a bastard."

The sublime madwoman was quiet by this assurance.

Doubtless many a reader will say that if I had been an honest man I
should have undeceived her, but I cannot agree with them; it would have
been impossible, and I confess that even if it had been possible I would
not have done so, for it would only have made me unhappy.

I had told Marcoline to dress with elegance, and I put on one of my
handsomest suits to accompany her to the theatre. Chance brought the two
sisters Rangoni, daughters of the Roman consul, into our box. As I had
made their acquaintance on my first visit to Marseilles, I introduced
Marcoline to them as my niece, who only spoke Italian. As the two young
ladies spoke the tongue of Tasso also, Marcoline was highly delighted.
The younger sister, who was by far the handsomer of the two, afterwards
became the wife of Prince Gonzaga Solferino. The prince was a cultured
man, and even a genius, but very poor. For all that he was a true son of
Gonzaga, being a son of Leopold, who was also poor, and a girl of the
Medini family, sister to the Medini who died in prison at London in the
year 1787.

Babet Rangoni, though poor, deserved to become a princess, for she had
all the airs and manners of one. She shines under her name of Rangoni
amongst the princess and princesses of the almanacs. Her vain husband is
delighted at his wife