uld not have acted in such a manner, and that I had been wrong to tell
the superioress everything.

"I would not have said anything if I had had anything important to say."

"Armelline has become unhappy through knowing you."

"Because she does not want to fail in her duty, and she sees that you
only love her to turn her from it."

"But her unhappiness will cease when I cease troubling her."

"Do you mean you are not going to see her any more?"

"Exactly. Do you think that it costs me no pain? But I must make the
effort for the sake of my peace of mind."

"Then she will be sure that you do not love her."

"She must think what she pleases. In the meanwhile I feel sure that if
she loved me as I loved her, we should be of one mind."

"We have duties which seem to press lightly on you."

"Then be faithful to your duties, and permit a man of honour to respect
them by visiting you no more."

Armelline then appeared. I thought her changed.

"Why do you look so grave and pale?"

"Because you have grieved me."

"Come then, be gay once more, and allow me to cure myself of a passion,
the essence of which is to induce you to fail in your duty. I shall be
still your friend, and I shall come to see you once a week while I remain
in Rome."

"Once a week! You needn't have begun by coming once a day."

"You are right; it was your kind expression which deceived me, but I hope
you will allow me to become rational again. For this to happen, I must
try not to see you more than I can help. Think over it, and you will see
that I am doing all for the best."

"It's very hard that you can't love me as I love you."

"You mean calmly, and without desires."

"I don't say that; but holding your desires in check, if they are
contrary to the voice of duty."

"I'm too old to learn this method, and it does not seem to me an
attractive one. Kindly tell me whether the restraint of your desires
gives you much pain?"

"I don't repress my desires when I think of you, I cherish them; I wish
you were the Pope, I wish you were my father, that I might caress you in
all innocence; in my dreams I wish you could become a girl, so that we
might always live happily together."

At this true touch of native simplicity, I could not help smiling.

I told them that I should come in the evening to take them to the
Aliberti, and felt in a better humour after my visit, for I could see
that there was no art or coquetry in what Armelline said. I saw