It would have been difficult to ask a more indiscreet question, considering that the company was composed almost entirely of Frenchmen and Spaniards in about equal proportion.  Yet my Henriette turned the difficulty so cleverly that the Frenchmen would have liked to be Spaniards, and ‘vice versa’.  Dubois, nothing daunted, begged her to say what she thought of the Italians.  The question made me tremble.  A certain M. de la Combe, who was seated near me, shook his head in token of disapprobation, but Henriette did not try to elude the question.

“What can I say about the Italians,” she answered, “I know only one?  If I am to judge them all from that one my judgment must certainly be most favourable to them, but one single example is not sufficient to establish the rule.”

It was impossible to give a better answer, but as my readers may well imagine, I did not appear to have heard it, and being anxious to prevent any more indiscreet questions from Dubois I turned the conversation into a different channel.

The subject of music was discussed, and a Spaniard asked Henriette whether she could play any other instrument besides the violoncello.

“No,” she answered, “I never felt any inclination for any other.  I learned the violoncello at the convent to please my mother, who can play it pretty well, and without an order from my father, sanctioned by the bishop, the abbess would never have given me permission to practise it.”

“What objection could the abbess make?”

“That devout spouse of our Lord pretended that I could not play that instrument without assuming an indecent position.”

At this the Spanish guests bit their lips, but the Frenchmen laughed heartily, and did not spare their epigrams against the over-particular abbess.

After a short silence, Henriette rose, and we all followed her example.  It was the signal for breaking up the party, and we soon took our leave.

I longed to find myself alone with the idol of my soul.  I asked her a hundred questions without waiting for the answers.

“Ah! you were right, my own Henriette, when you refused to go to that concert, for you knew that you would raise many enemies against me.  I am certain that all those men hate me, but what do I care?  You are my universe!  Cruel darling, you almost killed me with your violoncello, because, having no idea of your being a musician, I thought you had gone mad, and when I heard you I was compelled to leave the room in order to weep undisturbed.  My tears relieved my fearful oppression.  Oh!  I entreat you to tell me what other talents you possess.  Tell me candidly, for you might kill me if you brought them out unexpectedly, as you have done this evening.”

“I have no other accomplishments, my best beloved.  I have emptied my bag all at once.  Now you know your Henriette entirely.  Had you not chanced to tell me about a month ago that you had no taste for music, I would have told you that I could play the violoncello remarkably well, but if I had mentioned such a thing, I know you well enough to be certain that you would have bought an instrument immediately, and I could not, dearest, find pleasure in anything that would weary you.”