to a declaration, and she was quite right. The departure of Mdlle. de
la Meure had a good deal to do with my determination to declare myself;
and I was very sorry to have done so afterwards, for after I had told her
I loved her Clement was dismissed, and my position was worse than before.
The man who declares his love for a woman in words wants to be sent to
school again.

Three days after the departure of Tiretta, I took him what small
belongings he had, and Madame seemed very glad to see me. The Abbe des
Forges arrived just as we were sitting down to dinner, and though he had
been very friendly to me at Paris he did not so much as look at me all
through the meal, and treated Tiretta in the same way. I, for my part,
took no notice of him, but Tiretta, not so patient as I, at last lost his
temper and got up, begging Madame to tell him when she was going to have
that fellow to dine with her. We rose from table without saying a word,
and the silent abbe went with madam into another room.

Tiretta took me to see his room, which was handsomely furnished, and, as
was right, adjoined his sweetheart's. Whilst he was putting his things in
order, Mdlle. de la Meure made me come and see my apartment. It was a
very nice room on the ground floor, and facing hers. I took care to point
out to her how easily I could pay her a visit after everyone was in bed,
but she said we should not be comfortable in her room, and that she would
consequently save me the trouble of getting out of bed. It will be
guessed that I had no objections to make to this arrangement.

She then told me of her aunt's folly about Tiretta.

"She believes," said she, "that we do not know he sleeps with her."

"Believes, or pretends to believe."

"Possibly. She rang for me at eleven o'clock this morning and told me to
go and ask him what kind of night he had passed. I did so, but seeing his
bed had not been slept in I asked him if he had not been to sleep.

"'No,' said he, 'I have been writing all night, but please don't say
anything about it to your aunt: I promised with all my heart to be as
silent as the grave."

"Does he make sheep's eyes at you?"

"No, but if he did it would be all the same. Though he is not over sharp
he knows, I think, what I think of him."

"Why have you such a poor opinion of him?"

"Why? My aunt pays him. I think selling one's self is a dreadful idea."

"But you pay me."

"Yes, but in the same coin as you give me."

The old