Melulla, highly pleased with her success, refused the gold I wanted to give her, and allowed me to go after I had spent two hours with her.

When I recovered my composure, I had but one feeling-hatred for myself and for the contemptible creature who had allured me to be guilty of so vile an insult to the loveliest of her sex.  I went home the prey to fearful remorse, and went to bed, but sleep never closed my eyes throughout that cruel night.

In the morning, worn out with fatigue and sorrow, I got up, and as soon as I was dressed I went to M. F——­, who had sent for me to give me some orders.  After I had returned, and had given him an account of my mission, I called upon Madame F——­, and finding her at her toilet I wished her good morning, observing that her lovely face was breathing the cheerfulness and the calm of happiness; but, suddenly, her eyes meeting mine, I saw her countenance change, and an expression of sadness replace her looks of satisfaction.  She cast her eyes down as if she was deep in thought, raised them again as if to read my very soul, and breaking our painful silence, as soon as she had dismissed her maid, she said to me, with an accent full of tenderness and of solemnity,

“Dear one, let there be no concealment either on my part or on yours.  I felt deeply grieved when I saw you leave me last night, and a little consideration made me understand all the evil which might accrue to you in consequence of what I had done.  With a nature like yours, such scenes might cause very dangerous disorders, and I have resolved not to do again anything by halves.  I thought that you went out to breathe the fresh air, and I hoped it would do you good.  I placed myself at my window, where I remained more than an hour without seeing alight in your room.  Sorry for what I had done, loving you more than ever, I was compelled, when my husband came to my room, to go to bed with the sad conviction that you had not come home.  This morning, M. F. sent an officer to tell you that he wanted to see you, and I heard the messenger inform him that you were not yet up, and that you had come home very late.  I felt my heart swell with sorrow.  I am not jealous, dearest, for I know that you cannot love anyone but me; I only felt afraid of some misfortune.  At last, this morning, when I heard you coming, I was happy, because I was ready to skew my repentance, but I looked at you, and you seemed a different man.  Now, I am still looking at you, and, in spite of myself, my soul reads upon your countenance that you are guilty, that you have outraged my love.  Tell me at once, dearest, if I am mistaken; if you have deceived me, say so openly.  Do not be unfaithful to love and to truth.  Knowing that I was the cause of it, I should never forgive my self, but there is an excuse for you in my heart, in my whole being.”

More than once, in the course of my life, I have found myself under the painful necessity of telling falsehoods to the woman I loved; but in this case, after so true, so touching an appeal, how could I be otherwise than sincere?  I felt myself sufficiently debased by my crime, and I could not degrade myself still more by falsehood.  I was so far from being disposed to such a line of conduct that I could not speak, and I burst out crying.