ou are speaking the truth it is wrong of you to keep her in the house,
as nobody will believe in your innocence."

"It is enough for me that you believe in it. I admire her, and at any
other time I expect we could not sleep under the same roof without
sleeping in the same bed; but now that you rule my heart I am not capable
of a passion for her."

"I am delighted to hear it; but I think she is very pretty."

We went in to see her nurse, who called her "my child," and kissed her
again and again, and then left us alone to prepare some lemonade for us.
As soon as we found ourselves alone our mouths were glued together, and
my hands touched a thousand beauties, covered only by a dress of light
sarcenet; but I could not enjoy her charms without this cruel robe, which
was all the worse because it did not conceal the loveliness beneath it. I
am sure that the good nurse would have kept us waiting a long time if she
had known how we longed to be left alone for a few moments longer; but,
alas! the celerity with which she made those two glasses of lemonade was
unexampled.

"It was made beforehand, was it?" said I, when I saw her coming in.

"Not at all, sir; but I am a quick hand."

"You are, indeed."

These words made my charmer go off into a peal of laughter, which she
accompanied with a significant glance in my direction. As we were going
away she said that as things seemed to be against us we must wait till
her husband came to spend a few days with me.

My terrible enemy gave us some sweets, which she praised very highly, and
above all some quince marmalade, which she insisted on our testing. We
begged to be excused, and Madame pressed my foot with hers. When we had
got away she told me I had been very wise not to touch anything, as the
widow was suspected of having poisoned her husband.

The ball, the supper, the refreshments, and the guests were all of the
most exquisite and agreeable kind. I only danced one minuet with Madame
de Chauvelin, nearly all my evening being taken up with talking to her
husband. I made him a present of my translation of his poem on the seven
deadly sins, which he received with much pleasure.

"I intend," said I, "to pay you a visit at Turin."

"Are you going to bring your housekeeper with you?"

"No."

"You are wrong, for she is a delightful person."

Everybody spoke of my dear Dubois in the same way. She had a perfect
knowledge of the rules of good breeding, and she knew how to mak