“I considered all that he had told me, and I formed the following conclusions:—­first, that you were not the person that you described yourself to be; and, secondly, that he had discovered our attachment, and had insisted upon your not re-appearing—­but that you had deserted me, and left the country, I knew, after what had passed, to be impossible.  But whether you were Monsieur de Rouille or not, you were all I coveted, and all that I adored; and I vowed that for you I would live or die.  I felt assured that one day or another, you would come back, and that conviction supported me.  My future husband appeared—­he was odious.  The time fixed for our wedding drew nigh—­I had but one resource, which was flight.  A young girl who attended me (you recollect her, she came and told us the bishop was coming, when we were in the garden), I knew to be attached to me.  I took her in confidence, and through her means I obtained a peasant’s dress, with the promise of shelter in her father’s cottage, some leagues distant.  The night before the marriage was to take place, I ran down to the river that flows past the chateau, threw my bonnet and shawl on the bank, and then made my escape to where her father was waiting to receive me, in a cart which he had provided as a conveyance.  The girl, who was left, managed admirably:  it was supposed that I had drowned myself, and as they had no further occasion for her services, she was dismissed, and joined me at her father’s cottage.  I remained there for more than a year, when I thought it advisable to move, and come to Marseilles, where I obtained the situation of housekeeper to this old gentleman, who has treated me more like a daughter than a domestic.  Now, Mr Francois, can you give so good an account of yourself?”

“Not quite, Cerise; but I can honestly declare, that when I thought you alive, I never forgot you, and believing you dead, I never ceased to lament you, nor have I looked at a woman since.  Our old friend below can prove it, by my answer when he cautioned me against the charms of his housekeeper.”

I did not, your highness, tell the whole truth to Cerise; for I have always considered it perfectly justifiable to retain facts which cannot add to people’s happiness.  I declared that I left her because my life would have been forfeited if I had remained, and I valued it only for her sake.  That I always intended to return, and when I quitted Valencia, and had become a man of property, I immediately proceeded to make inquiries, and heard the news of her death.  Neither did I acquaint her with the profession which I had followed; I merely stated that my father was a man of eminence, and that he had died rich—­for although people of good family will sometimes bow to love, taking the risk of high or low birth, they are always mortified when they discover that their ticket in the lottery has turned up a blank.

Cerise was satisfied—­we renewed our vows—­and the old gentleman, who declared that of all the secrets in his possession ours would be the most dangerous to him if discovered, was not sorry to see us united, and quit the house.