uppose from the very next day that I
was in love with her, but that my love appeared to me hopeless. I knew
that such a plan was infallible, because it saved her dignity. It seemed
to me that Father Georgi himself would be compelled to approve such an
undertaking, and I had remarked with great satisfaction that Cardinal
Acquaviva had expressed his delight at Cardinal S. C.'s invitation--an
honour which he had never yet bestowed on me himself. This affair might
have very important results for me.

I read the marchioness's sonnet, and found it easy, flowing, and well
written. It was composed in praise of the King of Prussia, who had just
conquered Silesia by a masterly stroke. As I was copying it, the idea
struck me to personify Silesia, and to make her, in answer to the sonnet,
bewail that Love (supposed to be the author of the sonnet of the
marchioness) could applaud the man who had conquered her, when that
conqueror was the sworn enemy of Love.

It is impossible for a man accustomed to write poetry to abstain when a
happy subject smiles upon his delighted imagination. If he attempted to
smother the poetical flame running through his veins it would consume
him. I composed my sonnet, keeping the same rhymes as in the original,
and, well pleased with my muse, I went to bed.

The next morning the Abbe Gama came in just as I had finished recopying
my sonnet, and said he would breakfast with me. He complimented me upon
the honour conferred on me by the invitation of Cardinal S. C.

"But be prudent," he added, "for his eminence has the reputation of being
jealous:"

I thanked him for his friendly advice, taking care to assure him that I
had nothing to fear, because I did not feel the slightest inclination for
the handsome marchioness.

Cardinal S. C. received me with great kindness mingled with dignity, to
make me realize the importance of the favour he was bestowing upon me.

"What do you think," he enquired, "of the sonnet?"

"Monsignor, it is perfectly written, and, what is more, it is a charming
composition. Allow me to return it to you with my thanks."

"She has much talent. I wish to shew you ten stanzas of her composition,
my dear abbe, but you must promise to be very discreet about it."

"Your eminence may rely on me."

He opened his bureau and brought forth the stanzas of which he was the
subject. I read them, found them well written, but devoid of enthusiasm;
they were the work of a poet, and expressed l