—­Was she younger than you then?

—­The same age, sir, but she was fresh fruit.  She appeared so innocent that one would have given her the sacrament without confession.  Monsieur Braqueminet, he undertook to give her the Sacrament....  Yes, he undertook it, that man!...

—­But was she really his niece?

—­Yes, sir, his own sister’s daughter.  I have had proofs of it; do you think I should have gone away, without that?  This sister hated me, and I thoroughly returned it; but when I saw her daughter arrive, I said to myself:  I am well revenged.

—­But your innocence.... how did he have it?

—­Ah, you are anxious to know that.  I must tell you everything then! everything! this is how it happened.  He suffered a little from his chest, and every evening my aunt used to carry him up a posset.  When my aunt was dead, I was obliged to take her place, for the servant we had taken was married, and went home at the end of the day.  He knew very well what he was doing, and I, poor little lamb of God, believed everything.  I was like a new-born child.  It is not right to be so silly as that.  God has punished me for it:  it is quite right.  I don’t complain at it.  So I used to take him up his posset every evening.  Then he used to kiss me and squeeze me to his heart, calling me his dear niece, and charging me to be good: 

—­You will always be good? he used to say to me.

—­Yes, uncle.

—­Always! you promise me.

—­Yes, uncle.

—­Ah, let me kiss you for that kind promise.  I found that he kissed me for rather a long time and although it was very pleasant to me, still it used to give me reason for reflection:  “How can he love me so much, I thought, when he is not my uncle?”

You can judge by that if I was not silly.  But it is perfectly conceivable, for I had never been to school, so who was there then to teach me naughtiness.  A young girl’s brain is active, and I formed a thousand fancies of every kind.  “Perhaps he has some interest concealed underneath,” I said artlessly to myself, “and perhaps he does not love me as he wishes me to believe.”  I was hardly fifteen, and you see I was quite candid and simple.  I thought I would pretend to be ill, in order to make a trial of him, and see if he would be grieved and if he would come and nurse me.  So one evening, when he had finished supper, I told him that I was not well, and that I was going to bed.  He was reading his newspaper and did not appear to hear me.  At least he made no reply.  I went away very sadly and sorrowfully, thinking that his affection for me was not very great, as he did not give the least attention to my complaints.  In short, I went to bed.

“He will go to bed too very soon,” I said to myself, “he will call for his posset and he will be obliged to get up to see why I do not bring it to him.”

Indeed, about an hour after, I heard his bell.  I wrapped myself up in the sheets and pretended to be asleep.  He rang a second time.  “Veronica, Veronica,” he cried, “my posset; what are you doing then?  Have you forgotten it?  Veronica!”