My generosity cost me four hundred sequins, but the faro bank brought me a thousand and more, although I never held the cards, my management of the theatre taking up all my time.  My manner with the actresses gained me great kindness; it was clearly seen that I carried on no intrigue with any of them, although I had every facility for doing so.  Madame F——­ complimented me, saying that she had not entertained such a good opinion of my discretion.  I was too busy through the carnival to think of love, even of the passion which filled my heart.  It was only at the beginning of Lent, and after the departure of the comedians, that I could give rein to my feelings.

One morning Madame F——­ sent, a messenger who, summoned me to her presence.  It was eleven o’clock; I immediately went to her, and enquired what I could do for her service.

“I wanted to see you,” she said, “to return the two hundred sequins which you lent me so nobly.  Here they are; be good enough to give me back my note of hand.”

“Your note of hand, madam, is no longer in my possession.  I have deposited it in a sealed envelope with the notary who, according to this receipt of his, can return it only to you.”

“Why did you not keep it yourself?”

“Because I was afraid of losing it, or of having it stolen.  And in the event of my death I did not want such a document to fall into any other hands but yours.”

“A great proof of your extreme delicacy, certainly, but I think you ought to have reserved the right of taking it out of the notary’s custody yourself.”

“I did not forsee the possibility of calling for it myself.”

“Yet it was a very likely thing.  Then I can send word to the notary to transmit it to me?”

“Certainly, madam; you alone can claim it.”

She sent to the notary, who brought the himself.

She tore the envelope open, and found only a piece of paper besmeared with ink, quite illegible, except her own name, which had not been touched.

“You have acted,” she said, “most nobly; but you must agree with me that I cannot be certain that this piece of paper is really my note of hand, although I see my name on it.”

“True, madam; and if you are not certain of it, I confess myself in the wrong.”

“I must be certain of it, and I am so; but you must grant that I could not swear to it.”

“Granted, madam.”

During the following days it struck me that her manner towards me was singularly altered.  She never received me in her dishabille, and I had to wait with great patience until her maid had entirely dressed her before being admitted into her presence.