came
from the fact of his being the donor. My gorge rose at the sight of the
purse he offered me, and the insult gave me strength to banish from my
presence the impostor whom in one moment I had learnt to know and to
despise. He faced my angry looks unabashed, and assured me with the
utmost unconcern that I could know nothing of the paramount obligations
that fill the existence of a man of quality, adding that he hoped
eventually, when I looked at things quietly, I should come to see his
behaviour in a better light. Then, returning the purse to his pocket,
he declared he would readily find a way of putting the contents at my
disposal in such a manner as to make it impossible for me to refuse his
liberality. Thus leaving me with the odious, the intolerable implication
that he was going to make full amends by these sordid means, he made for
the door to which I pointed without a word. When he was gone, I felt a
calmness of mind that surprised myself. It arose from the resolution I
had formed to die. I dressed with some care, wrote a letter to my aunt
asking her forgiveness for the pain I was about to cause her by my
death, and went out into the streets. There I roamed about all the
afternoon and evening and a part of the night, moving from busy
thoroughfare to deserted lane without a trace of fatigue, postponing
the execution of my purpose to make it more sure and certain under the
favouring conditions of darkness and solitude. Possibly too I found a
certain weak pleasure in dallying with the thought of dying and tasting
the mournful satisfaction of my coming release from my troubles. At two
o'clock in the morning, I went down to the river's brink. Sirs, you know
the rest,--you snatched me from a watery grave. I thank you for your
goodness,--though I am sorry you saved my life. The world is full of
forsaken women. I did not wish to add another to the number."

Sophie then fell silent and began weeping afresh. My good master took
her hand with the greatest delicacy.

"My child," he said, "I have listened with a tender interest to the
story of your life, and I own 'tis a sad tale. But I am happy to discern
that your case is curable. Not only was your lover unworthy of the
favours you showed him and has proved himself on trial a selfish,
cruel-hearted libertine, but I see plainly your love for him was only
an impulse of the senses and the effect of your own sensibility, the
particular object of which mattered far less than