At supper-time Clementine, accompanied by a servant, brought me a delicate cold collation, and told me that the bank had won.  It was the first time it had done so, for I had always taken care to play a losing game.  I made a good supper, but remained still melancholy and silent.  When I had finished Clementine bade me good night, saying that she was going to write her poem.

I, too, was in the vein:  I finished my poem, and made a fair copy of it before I went to bed.  In the morning Clementine came to see me, and gave me her piece, which I read with pleasure; though I suspect that the delight my praises gave was equal to mine.

Then came the turn of my composition, and before long I noticed that the picture of my sufferings was making a profound impression on her.  Big tears rolled down her cheeks, and from her eyes shot forth tender glances.  When I had finished, I had the happiness of hearing her say that if she had known that part of physiology better, she would not have behaved so.

We took a cup of chocolate together, and I then begged her to lie down beside me in bed without undressing, and to treat me as I had treated her the day before, that she might have some experience of the martyrdom I had sung in my verses.  She smiled and agreed, on the condition that I should do nothing to her.

It was a cruel condition, but it was the beginning of victory, and I had to submit.  I had no reason to repent of my submission, for I enjoyed the despotism she exercised on me, and the pain she must be in that I did nothing to her, whilst I would not let her see the charms which she held in her hands.  In vain I excited her to satisfy herself, to refuse her desires nothing, but she persisted in maintaining that she did not wish to go any further.

“Your enjoyment cannot be so great as mine,” said I. But her subtle wit never left her without a reply.

“Then,” said she, “you have no right to ask me to pity you.”

The test, however, was too sharp for her.  She left me in a state of great excitement, giving me a kiss which took all doubts away, and saying that in love we must be all or nothing.

We spent the day in reading, eating, and walking, and in converse grave and gay.  I could not see, however, that my suit had progressed, as far as the events of the morning seemed to indicate.  She wanted to reverse the medal of Aristippus, who said, in speaking of Lois, “I possess her, but she does not possess me.”  She wanted to be my mistress, without my being her master.  I ventured to bewail my fate a little, but that did not seem to advance my cause.

Three or four days after, I asked Clementine in the presence of her sister to let me lie in bed beside her.  This is the test proposed to a nun, a widow, a girl afraid of consequences, and it nearly always succeeds.  I took a packet of fine English letters and explained their use to her.  She took them examined them attentively, and after a burst of laughter declared them to be scandalous, disgusting, horrible in which anathema her sister joined.  In vain I tried to plead their utility in defence, but Clementine maintained that there was no trusting them, and pushed her finger into one so strongly that it burst with a loud crack.  I had to give way, and put my specialties in my pocket, and her final declaration was that such things made her shudder.