If I related any story, any adventure, she pretended not to understand, and affected not to see the point of an anecdote or a jest; very often she would purposely not look at me, and then I was sure to relate badly.  If M. D——­ R——­ laughed at something I had just said, she would ask what he was laughing for, and when he had told her, she would say it was insipid or dull.  If one of her bracelets became unfastened, I offered to fasten it again, but either she would not give me so much trouble, or I did not understand the fastening, and the maid was called to do it.  I could not help shewing my vexation, but she did not seem to take the slightest notice of it.  If M. D——­ R——­ excited me to say something amusing or witty, and I did not speak immediately, she would say that my budget was empty, laughing, and adding that the wit of poor M. Casanova was worn out.  Full of rage, I would plead guilty by my silence to her taunting accusation, but I was thoroughly miserable, for I did not see any cause for that extraordinary change in her feelings, being conscious that I had not given her any motive for it.  I wanted to shew her openly my indifference and contempt, but whenever an opportunity offered, my courage would forsake me, and I would let it escape.

One evening M. D——­ R——­ asking me whether I had often been in love, I answered,

“Three times, my lord.”

“And always happily, of course.”

“Always unhappily.  The first time, perhaps, because, being an ecclesiastic, I durst not speak openly of my love.  The second, because a cruel, unexpected event compelled me to leave the woman I loved at the very moment in which my happiness would have been complete.  The third time, because the feeling of pity, with which I inspired the beloved object, induced her to cure me of my passion, instead of crowning my felicity.”

“But what specific remedies did she use to effect your cure?”

“She has ceased to be kind.”

“I understand she has treated you cruelly, and you call that pity, do you?  You are mistaken.”

“Certainly,” said Madame F——­, “a woman may pity the man she loves, but she would not think of ill-treating him to cure him of his passion.  That woman has never felt any love for you.”

“I cannot, I will not believe it, madam.”

“But are you cured?”

“Oh! thoroughly; for when I happen to think of her, I feel nothing but indifference and coldness.  But my recovery was long.”

“Your convalescence lasted, I suppose, until you fell in love with another.”

“With another, madam?  I thought I had just told you that the third time I loved was the last.”

A few days after that conversation, M. D——­ R——­ told me that Madame F——­ was not well, that he could not keep her company, and that I ought to go to her, as he was sure she would be glad to see me.  I obeyed, and told Madame F——­ what M. D——­ R——­ had said.  She was lying on a sofa.  Without looking at me, she told me she was feverish, and would not ask me to remain with her, because I would feel weary.