she
had treated me in the past.

"Then," said I, "you are at present the victim of a fearful disease,
heavily in debt, likely to be turned out of doors and imprisoned by your
creditors. What do you propose to do?"

"Do! Why, throw myself in the Seine, to be sure; that's all that is left
for me to do. I have not a farthing left."

"And what would you do if you had some money?"

"I would put myself under the doctor's hands, in the first place, and
then if any money was left I would go to Bologna and try to get a living
somehow. Perhaps I should have learnt a little wisdom by experience."

"Poor girl, I pity you! and in spite of your bad treatment of me, which
has brought you to this pass, I will not abandon you. Here are four louis
for your present wants, and to-morrow I will tell you where you are to go
for your cure. When you have got well again, I will give you enough money
for the journey. Dry your tears, repent, amend your ways, and may God
have mercy on you!"

The poor girl threw herself on the ground before me, and covered one of
my hands with kisses, begging me to forgive her for the ill she had done
me. I comforted her and went my way, feeling very sad. I took a coach and
drove to the Rue de Seine, where I called on an old surgeon I knew, told
him the story, and what I wanted him to do. He told me he could cure her
in six weeks without anybody hearing about it, but that he must be paid
in advance.

"Certainly; but the girl is poor, and I am doing it out of charity."

The worthy man took a piece of paper and gave me a note addressed to a
house in the Faubourg St. Antoine, which ran as follows:

"You will take in the person who brings you this note and three hundred
francs, and in six weeks you will send her back cured, if it please God.
The person has reasons for not wishing to be known."

I was delighted to have managed the matter so speedily and at such a
cheap rate, and I went to bed in a calmer state of mind, deferring my
interview with my brother till the next day.

He came at eight o'clock, and, constant to his folly, told me he had a
plan to which he was sure I could have no objection.

"I don't want to hear anything about it; make your choice, Paris or
Rome."

"Give me the journey-money, I will remain at Paris; but I will give a
written engagement not to trouble you or your brother again. That should
be sufficient."

"It is not for you to judge of that. Begone! I have neither the time nor