e her often, but vain promises! The time
was near which parted us for ever.

The same evening I went to tell the good news to my friend Murray. He was
in a transport of joy, and begged me to come and sup with him at his
casino the day after next, and to bring the girl with me, that the
surrender might be made in form. I did not fail him, for once the matter
was decided, I longed to bring it to an end. In my presence he assigned
to her the yearly income for her life of two hundred Venetian ducats, and
by a second deed he gave her all the contents of the house with which he
was going to provide her, provided always that she lived with him for a
year. He allowed her to receive me as a friend, also to receive her
mother and sisters, and she was free to go and see them when she would.
Tonine threw her arms about his neck, and assured him that she would
endeavour to please him to the utmost of her ability. "I will see him,"
said she, pointing to me, "but as his friend he shall have nothing more
from me." Throughout this truly affecting scene she kept back her tears,
but I could not conceal mine. Murray was happy, but I was not long a
witness of his good fortune, the reason of which I will explain a little
later.

Three days afterwards Laura came to me, told me that she was living in
Venice, and asked me to take her to her daughter's. I owed this woman too
much to refuse her, and I took her there forthwith. Tonine gave thanks to
God, and also to me, and her mother took up the song, for they were not
quite sure whether they were more indebted to God or to me. Tonine was
eloquent in her praise of Murray, and made no complaint at my not having
come to see her, at which I was glad. As I was going Laura asked me to
take her back in my gondola, and as we had to pass by the house in which
she lived she begged me to come in for a moment, and I could not hurt her
feelings by refusing. I owe it to my honour to remark here that I was
thus polite without thinking that I should see Barberine again.

This girl, as pretty as her sister, though in another style, began by
awakening my curiosity--a weakness which usually renders the profligate
man inconstant. If all women were to have the same features, the same
disposition, and the same manners, men would not only never be
inconstant, but would never be in love. Under that state of things one
would choose a wife by instinct and keep to her till death, but our world
would then be under a diff