I gave her two Louis and left.  Mdlle.  X. C. V. told me that she had no doubt of the infamy of this woman, as she was sure it was impossible to destroy the offspring without the risk of killing the mother also.  “My only trust,” said she, “is in you.”  I encouraged her in this idea, dissuading her from any criminal attempts, and assured her over and over again that she should not find her trust in me misplaced.  All at once she complained of feeling cold, and asked if we had not time to warm ourselves in Little Poland, saying that she longed to see my pretty house.  I was surprised and delighted with the idea.  The night was too dark for her to see the exterior charms of my abode, she would have to satisfy herself with the inside, and leave the rest to her imagination.  I thought my hour had come.  I made the coach stop and we got down and walked some way, and then took another at the corner of the Rue de la Ferannerie.  I promised the coachman six francs beyond his fare, and in a quarter of an hour he put us down at my door.

I rang with the touch of the master, the Pearl opened the door, and told me that there was nobody within, as I very well knew, but it was her habit to do so.

“Quick!” said I, “light us a fire, and bring some glasses and a bottle of champagne.”

“Would you like an omelette?”

“Very well.”

“Oh, I should like an omelette so much!” said Mdlle.  X. C. V. She was ravishing, and her laughing air seemed to promise me a moment of bliss.  I sat down before the blazing fire and made her sit on my knee, covering her with kisses which she gave me back as lovingly.  I had almost won what I wanted when she asked me in a sweet voice to stop.  I obeyed, thinking it would please her, feeling sure that she only delayed my victory to make it more complete, and that she would surrender after the champagne.  I saw love, kindness, trust, and gratitude shining in her face, and I should have been sorry for her to think that I claimed her as a mere reward.  No, I wanted her love, and nothing but her love.

At last we got to our last glass of champagne, we rose from the table, and sentimentally but with gentle force I laid her on a couch and held her amorously in my arms.  But instead of giving herself up to my embraces she resisted them, at first by those prayers which usually make lovers more enterprising, then by serious remonstrances, and at last by force.  This was too much, the mere idea of using violence has always shocked me, and I am still of opinion that the only pleasure in the amorous embrace springs from perfect union and agreement.  I pleaded my cause in every way, I painted myself as the lover flattered, deceived, despised!  At last I told her that I had had a cruel awakening, and I saw that the shaft went home.  I fell on my knees and begged her to forgive me.  “Alas!” said she, in a voice full of sadness, “I am no longer mistress of my heart, and have far greater cause for grief