ely, it is tragi-comic. I know the human heart, and I am sure
that I must have forfeited Madame's affections."

"It is true that----; but this is not the time to be thinking of such
matters. Quick! write to her briefly and return her the twenty-five
Louis."

My reply was as follows:

"Your unworthy suspicions, your abominable design of revenge, and the
impudent letter you wrote me, are the only causes of your no doubt bitter
repentance. I hope that it will restore peace to your conscience. Our
messengers have crossed, through no fault of mine. I send you the
twenty-five Louis; you can give them to the man yourself. I could not
prevent my servant from paying you a visit, but this time you will not
keep him two hours, and you will not find it difficult to appease his
anger. I wish you a good journey, and I shall certainly flee all
occasions of meeting you, for I always avoid the horrible; and you must
know, odious woman, that it isn't everybody who endeavours to ruin the
reputation of their friends. If you see the apostolic nuncio at Lucerne,
ask him about me, and he will tell you what sort of a reputation I have
in Europe. I can assure you that Le Duc has only spoken to me of his
misadventure, and that if you treat him well he will be discreet, as he
certainly has nothing to boast of. Farewell."

My dear Minerva approved of this letter, and I sent it with the money by
the messenger.

"The piece is not yet done," said my housekeeper, "we have three scenes
more:"

"What are they?"

"The return of your Spaniard, the appearance of the disease, and the
astonishment of Madame when she hears it all."

I counted the moments for Le Duc to return, but in vain; he did not
appear. I was in a state of great anxiety, although my dear Dubois kept
telling me that the only reason he was away so long was that the widow
was out. Some people are so happily constituted that they never admit the
possibility of misfortune. I was like that myself till the age of thirty,
when I was put under the Leads. Now I am getting into my dotage and look
on the dark side of everything. I am invited to a wedding, and see nought
but gloom; and witnessing the coronation of Leopold, at Prague, I say to
myself, 'Nolo coronari'. Cursed old age, thou art only worthy of dwelling
in hell, as others before me have thought also, 'tristisque senectus'.

About half-past nine my housekeeper looked out, and saw Le Duc by the
moonlight coming along at a good pac