bosom of her dress, where were imprisoned
two spheres which seemed to lament their captivity. I went farther, I
began to untie strings . . . for where does desire stop short?

"Sweetheart, I cannot resist, but you will not love me afterwards."

"I will always love you:"

Soon her beautiful breasts were exposed to my burning kisses. The flame
of my love lit another in her heart, and forgetting her former self she
opened her arms to me, making me promise not to despise her, and what
would one not promise! The modesty inherent in the sex, the fear of
results, perhaps a kind of instinct which reveals to them the natural
faithlessness of men make women ask for such promises, but what mistress,
if really amorous, would even think of asking her lover to respect her in
the moment of delirious ecstacy, when all one's being is centred on the
fulfilment of desire?

After we had passed an hour in these amorous toyings, which set my
sweetheart on fire, her charms having never before been exposed to the
burning lips or the free caresses of a man, I said to her,

"I grieve to leave you without having rendered to your beauty the
greatest homage which it deserves so well."

A sigh was her only answer.

It was cold, the fire was out, and I had to spend the night on the sofa.

"Give me a coverlet, dearest, that I may go away from you, for I should
die here between love and cold if you made me abstain."

"Lie where I have been, sweetheart. I will get up and rekindle the fire."

She got up in all her naked charms, and as she put a stick to the fire
the flame leapt up; I rose, I found her standing so as to display all her
beauties, and I could refrain no longer. I pressed her to my heart, she
returned my caresses, and till day-break we gave ourselves up to an
ecstacy of pleasure.

We had spent four or five delicious hours on the sofa. She then left me,
and after making a good fire she went to her room, and I remained on the
sofa and slept till noon. I was awakened by Madame, who wore a graceful
undress.

"Still asleep, M. Casanova?"

"Ah! good morning, madam, good morning. And what has become of my
friend?"

"He has become mine, I have forgiven him."

"What has he done to be worthy of so generous a pardon?"

"He proved to me that he made a mistake."

"I am delighted to hear it; where is he?"

"He has gone home, where you will find him; but don't say anything about
your spending the night here, or he will think it was sp