an, and I am very
much obliged to you. Alas perhaps after all it would have been better if
you had not taken any precautions, for surely you are not born for my
misfortune, and you could never have abandoned the mother and the child."

"You are right, sweetheart, and if before two months have elapsed you
find any signs of pregnancy in spite of my precautions, you have only to
write to me, and whatever my fortunes may be, I will give you my hand and
legitimise our offspring. You would certainly be marrying beneath your
station, but you would not be the less happy for that, would you?"

"No, no! to bear your name, and to win your hand would be the crowning of
all my hopes. I should never repent of giving myself wholly to you."

"You make me happy."

"All of us love you, all say that you are happy, and that you deserve
your happiness. What praise is this! You cannot tell how my heart beats
when I hear you lauded when you are away. When they say I love you, I
answer that I adore you, and you know that I do not lie."

It was with such dialogues that we passed away the interval between our
amorous transports on the last five or six nights of my stay. Her sister
slept, or pretended to sleep. When I left Clementine I went to bed and
did not rise till late, and then I spent the whole day with her either in
private or with the family. It was a happy time. How could I, as free as
the air, a perfect master of my movements, of my own free will put my
happiness away from me? I cannot understand it now.

My luck had made me win all the worthy canon's money, which in turn I
passed on to the family at the castle. Clementine alone would not profit
by my inattentive play, but the last two days I insisted on taking her
into partnership, and as the canon's bad luck still continued she
profited to the extent of a hundred louis. The worthy monk lost a
thousand sequins, of which seven hundred remained in the family. This was
paying well for the hospitality I had received, and as it was at the
expense of the monk, though a worthy one, the merit was all the greater.

The last night, which I spent entirely with the countess, was very sad;
we must have died of grief if we had not taken refuge in the transports
of love. Never was night better spent. Tears of grief and tears of love
followed one another in rapid succession, and nine times did I offer up
sacrifice on the altar of the god, who gave me fresh strength to replace
that which was exh