“I should have been able,” he said to me, “to teach your lady heraldry, geography, history, and the use of the globes, but she knows that already.  She has received an excellent education.”

The teacher’s name was Valentin de la Haye.  He told me that he was an engineer and professor of mathematics.  I shall have to speak of him very often in these Memoirs, and my readers will make his acquaintance by his deeds better than by any portrait I could give of him, so I will merely say that he was a true Tartufe, a worthy pupil of Escobar.

We had a pleasant dinner with our Hungarian friend.  Henriette was still wearing the uniform, and I longed to see her dressed as a woman.  She expected a dress to be ready for the next day, and she was already supplied with petticoats and chemises.

Henriette was full of wit and a mistress of repartee.  The milliner, who was a native of Lyons, came in one morning, and said in French: 

“Madame et Monsieur, j’ai l’honneur de vous souhaiter le bonjour.”

“Why,” said my friend, “do you not say Monsieur et madame?”

“I have always heard that in society the precedence is given to the ladies.”

“But from whom do we wish to receive that honour?”

“From gentlemen, of course.”

“And do you not see that women would render themselves ridiculous if they did not grant to men the same that they expect from them.  If we wish them never to fail in politeness towards us, we must shew them the example.”

“Madam,” answered the shrewd milliner, “you have taught me an excellent lesson, and I will profit by it.  Monsieur et madame, je suis votre servante.”

This feminine controversy greatly amused me.

Those who do not believe that a woman can make a man happy through the twenty-four hours of the day have never possessed a woman like Henriette.  The happiness which filled me, if I can express it in that manner, was much greater when I conversed with her even than when I held her in my arms.  She had read much, she had great tact, and her taste was naturally excellent; her judgment was sane, and, without being learned, she could argue like a mathematician, easily and without pretension, and in everything she had that natural grace which is so charming.  She never tried to be witty when she said something of importance, but accompanied her words with a smile which imparted to them an appearance of trifling, and brought them within the understanding of all.  In that way she would give intelligence even to those who had none, and she won every heart.  Beauty without wit offers love nothing but the material enjoyment of its physical charms, whilst witty ugliness captivates by the charms of the mind, and at last fulfils all the desires of the man it has captivated.

Then what was my position during all the time that I possessed my beautiful and witty Henriette?  That of a man so supremely happy that I could scarcely realize my felicity!