n spite of himself,
in a state which would admit of no concealment; that is, in case he were
not impotent."

"All that seems very reasonable, but nevertheless neither of us thought
of it; your brother looks such a Hercules."

"There are two remedies open to you; you can either have your marriage
annulled, or you can take a lover; and I am sure that my brother is too
reasonable a man to offer any opposition to the latter course."

"I am perfectly free, but I can neither avail myself of a divorce nor of
a lover; for the wretch treats me so kindly that I love him more and
more, which doubtless makes my misfortune harder to bear."

The poor woman was so unhappy that I should have been delighted to
console her, but it was out of the question. However, the mere telling of
her story had afforded her some solace, and after kissing her in such a
way as to convince her that I was not like my brother, I wished her good
night.

The next day I called on Madame Vanloo, who informed me that Madame
Blondel had charged her to thank me for having gone away, while her
husband wished me to know that he was sorry not to have seen me to
express his gratitude.

"He seems to have found his wife a maid, but that's no fault of mine; and
Manon Baletti is the only person he ought to be grateful to. They tell me
that he has a pretty baby, and that he lives at the Louvre, while she has
another house in the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs."

"Yes, but he has supper with her every evening."

"It's an odd way of living."

"I assure you it answers capitally. Blondel regards his wife as his
mistress. He says that that keeps the flame of love alight, and that as
he never had a mistress worthy of being a wife, he is delighted to have a
wife worthy of being a mistress."

The next day I devoted entirely to Madame de Rumain, and we were occupied
with knotty questions till the evening. I left her well pleased. The
marriage of her daughter, Mdlle. Cotenfau, with M. de Polignac, which
took place five or six years later, was the result of our cabalistic
calculations.

The fair stocking-seller of the Rue des Prouveres, whom I had loved so
well, was no longer in Paris. She had gone off with a M. de Langlade, and
her husband was inconsolable. Camille was ill. Coralline had become the
titulary mistress of the Comte de la Marche, son of the Prince of Conti,
and the issue of this union was a son, whom I knew twenty years later. He
called himself the Chevalier