“Who told you to come and see this young lady?” said I, to the woman.

“One of the servants of the inn told me that a young lady from foreign parts had been left alone here, and that she was much to be pitied.  My feelings of humanity made me come and see if I could be useful to her; but I see she is in good hands, and I am very glad of it for her sake, poor dear!”

I saw that the woman was a procuress, and I only replied with a smile of contempt.

The poor girl then told me briefly what I had already heard, and added that Croce, who called himself De St. Croix, had gone to the gaming-table as soon as he had got my twenty sequins, and that he had then taken her back to the inn, where he had spent the next day in a state of despair, as he did not dare to shew himself abroad in the daytime.  In the evening he put on his mask and went out, not returning till the next morning.

“Soon after he put on his great coat and got ready to go out, telling me that if he did not return he would communicate with me by you, at the same time giving me your address, of which I have made use as you know.  He has not come back, and if you have not seen him I am sure he has gone off on foot without a penny in his pocket.  The landlord wants to be paid, and by selling all I have I could satisfy his claims; but, good God! what is to become of me, then?”

“Dare you return to your father?”

“Yes, sir, I dare return to him.  He will forgive me when on my knees and with tears in my eyes I tell him that I am ready to bury myself in a nunnery.”

“Very good! then I will take you to Marseilles myself, and in the meanwhile I will find you a lodging with some honest people.  Till then, shut yourself up in your room, do not admit anyone to see you, and be sure I will have a care for you.”

I summoned the landlord and paid the bill, which was a very small one, and I told him to take care of the lady till my return.  The poor girl was dumb with surprise and gratitude.  I said good-bye kindly and left her without even taking her hand.  It was not altogether a case of the devil turning monk; I always had a respect for distress.

I had already thought of Zenobia in connection with the poor girl’s lodging, and I went to see her on the spot.  In her husband’s presence I told her what I wanted, and asked if she could find a corner for my new friend.

“She shall have my place,” cried the worthy tailor, “if she won’t mind sleeping with my wife.  I will hire a small room hard bye, and will sleep there as long as the young lady stays.”

“That’s a good idea, gossip, but your wife will lose by the exchange.”

“Not much,” said Zenobia; and the tailor burst out laughing.

“As for her meals,” he added, “she must arrange that herself.”

“That’s a very simple matter,” said I, “Zenobia will get them and I will pay for them.”

I wrote the girl a short note, telling her of the arrangements I had made, and charged Zenobia to take her the letter.  The next day I found her in the poor lodging with these worthy folks, looking pleased and ravishingly pretty.  I felt that I could behave well for the present, but I sighed at the thought of the journey.  I should have to put a strong restraint on myself.