“No, no, you shall sleep too.”  So saying, she went into the dressing-room, and asked me to get her cloak.  I brought it to her, and when she came in she said,—­

“I breathe again.  Those dreadful trousers were too tight; they hurt me.”  She threw herself on the bed, with nothing on besides her cloak.

“Where did the breeches hurt you?” said I.

“I can’t tell you, but I should think you must find them dreadfully uncomfortable.”

“But, dearest, our anatomy is different, and breeches do not trouble us at all where they hurt you.”

As I spoke I held her to my breast and let myself fall gently beside her on the bed.  We remained thus a quarter of an hour without speaking, our lips glued together in one long kiss.  I left her a moment by herself, and when I returned she was between the sheets.  She said she had undressed to be able to sleep better, and, shutting her eyes, turned away.  I knew that the happy hour had come, and taking off my woman’s clothes in a twinkling, I gently glided into the bed beside her, for the last struggles of modesty must be tenderly respected.  I clasped her in my arms and a gentle pressure soon aroused her passions, and turning towards me she surrendered to me all her charms.

After the first sacrifice I proposed a wash, for though I could not exactly flatter myself that I had been the first to break open the lock, the victim had left some traces on the bed, which looked as if it were so.  The offer was received with delight, and when the operation was over she allowed me to gaze on all her charms, which I covered with kisses.  Growing bolder, she made me grant her the same privilege.

“What a difference there is,” said she, “between nature and art!”

“But of course you think that art is the better?”

“No, certainly not.”

“But there may be imperfections in nature, whereas art is perfect.”

“I do not know whether there be any imperfection in what I behold, but I do know that I have never seen anything so beautiful.”

In fact she had the instrument of love before her eyes in all its majesty, and I soon made her feel its power.  She did not remain still a moment, and I have known few women so ardent and flexible in their movements.

“If we were wise,” said she, “instead of going to the ball again we would come here and enjoy ourselves.”

I kissed the mouth which told me so plainly that I was to be happy, and I convinced her by my transports that no man could love her as ardently as I did.  I had no need to keep her awake, she shewed no inclination for sleep.  We were either in action or contemplation, or engaged in amorous discourse, the whole time.  I cheated her now and then, but to her own advantage, for a young woman is always more vigorous than a man, and we did not stop till the day began to break.  There was no need for concealment, for each had enjoyed his sweetheart in peace and happiness, and it was only modesty which silenced our congratulations.  By this silence we did not proclaim our happiness, but neither did we deny it.