and which will be equally fatal to both.  You know what happened to Madame de Riva, a nun in the convent of St.——.  She had to disappear after it became known that she was with child, and M. de Frulai, my predecessor, went mad, and died shortly after.  J. J. Rousseau told me that he died of poison, but he is a visionary who sees the black side of everything.  For my part, I believe that he died of grief at not being able to do anything for the unfortunate woman, who afterwards procured a dispensation from her vows from the Pope, and having got married is now living at Padua without any position in society.

“Let the prudent and loyal friend master the lover:  go and see M——­ M——­ sometimes in the parlour of the convent, but not here, or the boatmen will betray you.  The knowledge which we both have that the girls are in a satisfactory condition is a great alleviation to my distress, but you must confess that you have been very imprudent.  You have risked a terrible misfortune; consider the position you would have been in, for I am sure you would not have abandoned her.  She had an idea that the danger might be overcome by means of drugs but I convinced her that she was mistaken.  In God’s name, be discreet in the future, and write to me fully, for I shall always be interested in her fate, both from duty and sentiment.”

We returned together to Venice, where we separated, and I passed the rest of the night in great distress.  In the morning I wrote to the fair afflicted, and whilst endeavouring to console her to the best of my ability, I tried to impress on her the necessity for prudence and the avoidance of such escapades as might eventually ruin us.

Next day I received her reply, every word of which spelt despair.  Nature had given her a disposition which had become so intensified by indulgence that the cloister was unbearable to her, and I foresaw the hard fights I should have to undergo.

We saw each other the Thursday after Easter, and I told her that I should not come to the casino before midnight.  She had had four hours to pass with her lover in tears and regrets, amongst which she had often cursed her cruel fate and the foolish resolution which made her take the veil.  We supped together, and although the meal was a rich and delicate one we did it little honour.  When we had finished, the ambassador left, entreating me to remain, which I did, without thinking at all of the pleasures of a party of two, for Love lighteth not his torch at the hearts of two lovers who are full of grief and sorrow.  M——­ M——­ had grown thin, and her condition excited my pity and shut out all other feelings.  I held her a long time in my arms, covering her with tender and affectionate kisses, but I shewed no intention of consoling her by amusements in which her spirit could not have taken part.  She said, before we parted, that I had shewn myself a true lover, and she asked me to consider myself from henceforth as her only friend and protector.