ad not inspired me with a lively interest
in you, I should have only felt ordinary compassion on reading your
appeal, and this would not have been enough to force me to great
sacrifices of time and trouble. But I have no business to be blaming
Croce. You are hurt; I see you are still in love with him."

"I confess it, and I pity him. As for myself, I only pity my cruel
destiny. I shall never see him again, but I shall never love anyone else,
for my mind is made up. I shall go into a convent and expiate my sins. My
father will pardon me, for he is a man of an excellent heart. I have been
the victim of love; my will was not my own. The seductive influence of
passion ravished my reason from me, and the only thing that I blame
myself for is for not having fortified my mind against it. Otherwise I
cannot see that I have sinned deeply, but I confess I have done wrong."

"You would have gone with Croce from Milan if he had asked you, even on
foot."

"Of course; it would have been my duty; but he would not expose me to the
misery that he saw before us."

"Nay, you were miserable enough already. I am sure that if you meet him
at Marseilles you will go with him again."

"Never. I begin to get back my reason. I am free once more, and the day
will come when I shall thank God for having forgotten him."

Her sincerity pleased me, and as I knew too well the power of love I
pitied her from my heart. For two hours she told me the history of her
unfortunate amour, and as she told it well I began to take a liking for
her.

We reached Tortona in the evening, and with the intention of sleeping
there I told Clairmont to get us a supper to my taste. While we were
eating it I was astonished at my false niece's wit, and she made a good
match for me at the meal, for she had an excellent appetite, and drank as
well as any girl of her age. As we were leaving the table, she made a
jest which was so much to the point that I burst out laughing, and her
conquest was complete. I embraced her in the joy of my heart, and finding
my kiss ardently returned, I asked her without any, circumlocution if she
was willing that we should content ourselves with one bed.

At this invitation her face fell, and she replied, with an air of
submission which kills desire,--

"Alas! you can do what you like. If liberty is a precious thing, it is
most precious of all in love."

"There is no need for this disobedience. You have inspired me with a
tender passion,