When we saw the husband’s carriage coming, we rose and took care that the worthy man should not find us in the arbour.  He made a thousand excuses for not having returned sooner.

We had an excellent dinner, and at table he talked almost entirely of my housekeeper, and he seemed moved when I said I meant to take her to Lausanne to her mother.  I took leave of them at five o’clock with a broken heart, and from there I went to M. de Chavigni and told him all my adventures.  He had a right to be told, as he had done all in his power to insure the success of a project which had only failed by an unexampled fatality.

In admiration of my dear Dubois’s wit—­for I did not conceal the part she played he said that old as he was he should think himself quite happy if he had such a woman with him, and he was much pleased when I told him that I was in love with her.  “Don’t give yourself the trouble, my dear Casanova, of running from house to house to take leave,” said the amiable nobleman.  “It can be done just as well at the assembly, and you need not even stay to supper, if you don’t want to.”

I followed his advice, and thus saw again Madame as I thought, for the last time, but I was wrong; I saw her ten years afterwards; and at the proper time the reader will see where, when, how, and under what circumstances.

Before going away, I followed the ambassador to his room to thank him as he deserved, for his kindness, and to ask him to give me a letter of introduction for Berne, where I thought of staying a fortnight.  I also begged him to send Lebel to me that we might settle our accounts.  He told me that Lebel should bring me a letter for M. de Muralt, the Mayor of Thun.

When I got home, feeling sad on this, the eve of my leaving a town where I had but trifling victories and heavy losses, I thanked my housekeeper for waiting for me, and to give her a good night I told her that in three days we should set out for Berne, and that my mails must be packed.

Next day, after a somewhat silent breakfast, she said,—­

“You will take me with you, won’t you?”

“Certainly, if you like me well enough to want to go.”

“I would go with you to the end of the world, all the more as you are now sick and sad, and when I saw you first you were blithe and well.  If I must leave you, I hope at least to see you happy first.”

The doctor came in just then to tell me that my poor Spaniard was so ill that he could not leave his bed.

“I will have him cured at Berne,” said I; “tell him that we are going to dine there the day after to-morrow.”

“I must tell you, sir, that though it’s only a seven leagues’ journey, he cannot possibly undertake it as he has lost the use of all his limbs.”

“I am sorry to hear that, doctor.”

“I dare say, but it’s true.”

“I must verify the matter with my own eyes;” and so saying I went to see Le Duc.