I went to bed ill pleased with myself.  I did not know whether I had gone too far or not far enough; but what did it matter?  One thing was certain, I was sorry for what I had done, and that was always a thought which pained me.

In Clementine I saw a woman worthy of the deepest love and the greatest respect, and I knew not how I could cease to love her, nor yet how I could continue loving her without the reward which every faithful lover hopes to win.

“If she loves me,” I said to myself, “she cannot refuse me, but it is my part to beg and pray, and even to push her to an extremity, that she may find an excuse for her defeat.  A lover’s duty is to oblige the woman he loves to surrender at discretion, and love always absolves him for so doing.”

According to this argument, which I coloured to suit my passions, Clementine could not refuse me unless she did not love me, and I determined to put her to the proof.  I was strengthened in this resolve by the wish to free myself from the state of excitement I was in, and I was sure that if she continued obdurate I should soon get cured.  But at the same time I shuddered at the thought; the idea, of my no longer loving Clementine seemed to me an impossibility and a cruelty.

After a troubled night I rose early and went to wish her good morning.  She was still asleep, but her sister Eleanore was dressing.

“My sister,” said she, “read till three o’clock this morning.  Now that she has so many books, she is getting quite mad over them.  Let us play a trick on her; get into the bed beside her; it will be amusing to see her surprise when she wakes up.”

“But do you think she will take it as a joke?”

“She won’t be able to help laughing; besides, you are dressed.”

The opportunity was too tempting, and taking off my dressing-gown, I gently crept into the bed, and Eleanore covered me up to my neck.  She laughed, but my heart was beating rapidly.  I could not give the affair the appearance of a joke, and I hoped Clementine would be some time before she awoke that I might have time to compose myself.

I had been in this position for about five minutes, when Clementine, half asleep and half awake, turned over, and stretching out her arm, gave me a hasty kiss, thinking I was her sister.  She then fell asleep again in the same position.  I should have stayed still long enough, for her warm breath played on my face, and gave me a foretaste of ambrosia; but Eleanore could restrain herself no longer, and, bursting into a peal of laughter, forced Clementine to open her eyes.  Nevertheless, she did not discover that she held me in her arms till she saw her sister standing laughing beside the bed.

“This is a fine trick,” said she, “you are two charmers indeed!”

This quiet reception gave me back my self-composure, and I was able to play my part properly.

“You see,” said I, “I have had a kiss from my sweet Hebe.”