For three days I saw nothing of the delightful count, and on the fourth I resolved to ask him to take breakfast with me, as Camille had sent to my house to enquire how I was.  My adventure would not prevent me visiting her house, but I was anxious to know how it had been taken.

As soon as Tour d’Auvergne saw me he began to roar with laughter, and I joined in, and we greeted each other in the friendliest manner possible.  “My dear count,” said I, “let us forget this foolish story.  You have no business to attack me, as I do not know how to defend myself.”

“Why should you defend yourself, my dear fellow.  We like you all the better for it, and this humorous adventure makes us merry every evening.”

“Everybody knows it, then?”

“Of course, why not?  It makes Camille choke with laughter.  Come this evening; I will bring Babet, and she will amuse you as she maintains that you were not mistaken.”

“She is right.”

“Eh? what?  You do me too much honour, and I don’t believe you; but have it as you like.”

“I can’t do better, but I must confess when all’s said that you were not the person to whom my fevered imagination offered such ardent homage.”

At supper I jested, pretended to be astonished at the count’s indiscretion, and boasted of being cured of my passion.  Babet called me a villain, and maintained that I was far from cured; but she was wrong, as the incident had disgusted me with her, and had attached me to the count, who, indeed, was a man of the most amiable character.  Nevertheless, our friendship might have been a fatal one, as the reader will see presently.

One evening, when I was at the Italian theatre, Tour d’Auvergne came up to me and asked me to lend him a hundred louis, promising to repay me next Saturday.

“I haven’t got the money,” I said, “but my purse and all it contains is at your service.”

“I want a hundred louis, my dear fellow, and immediately, as I lost them at play yesterday evening at the Princess of Anhalt’s.”

“But I haven’t got them.”

“The receiver of the lottery ought always to be able to put his hand on a hundred louis.”

“Yes, but I can’t touch my cash-box; I have to give it up this day week.”

“So you can; as I will repay you on Saturday.  Take a hundred louis from the box, and put in my word of honour instead; don’t you think that is worth a hundred Louis?”

“I have nothing to say to that, wait for me a minute.”

I ran to my office, took out the money and gave it to him.  Saturday came but no count, and as I had no money I pawned my diamond ring and replaced the hundred louis I owed the till.  Three or four days afterwards, as I was at the Comedie Francaise, the Count de la Tour d’Auvergne came up to me and began to apologize.  I replied by shewing my hand, and telling him that I had pawned my ring to save my honour.  He said, with a melancholy air, that a man had failed to keep his word with him, but he would be sure to give me the hundred louis on the Saturday following, adding, “I give you my word of honour.”