We were dying of hunger, but the delicious supper which was waiting for us brought us to life again.  As soon as we got into the room Marcoline took off her green clothes and put on her woman’s dress, saying,—­

“I was not born to wear the breeches.  Here, take the beautiful necklace the madwoman gave me!”

“I will sell it, fair Undine, and you shall have the proceeds.”

“Is it worth much?”

“At least a thousand sequins.  By the time you get back to Venice you will be worth at least five thousand ducats, and you will be able to get a husband and live with him in a comfortable style.”

“Keep it all, I don’t want it; I want you.  I will never cease to love you; I will do whatever you tell me, and I promise never to be jealous.  I will care for you—­yes, as if you were my son.”

“Do not let us say anything more about it, fair Marcoline, but let us go to bed, for you have never inspired me with so much ardour as now.”

“But you must be tired.”

“Yes, but not exhaustion, for I was only able to perform the distillation once.”

“I thought you sacrificed twice on that old altar.  Poor old woman! she is still pretty, and I have no doubt that fifty years ago she was one of the first beauties in France.  How foolish of her to be thinking of love at that age.”

“You excited me, but she undid your work even more quickly.”

“Are you always obliged to have—­a girl beside you when you make love to her?”

“No; before, there was no question of making a son.”

“What? you are going to make her pregnant?  That’s ridiculous!  Does she imagine that she has conceived?”

“Certainly; and the hope makes her happy.”

“What a mad idea!  But why did you try to do it three times?”

“I thought to shew my strength, and that if I gazed on you I should not fail; but I was quite mistaken.”

“I pity you for having suffered so much.”

“You will renew my strength.”

As a matter of fact, I do not know whether to attribute it to the difference between the old and the young, but I spent a most delicious night with the beautiful Venetian—­a night which I can only compare to those I passed at Parma with Henriette, and at Muran with the beautiful nun.  I spent fourteen hours in bed, of which four at least were devoted to expiating the insult I had offered to love.  When I had dressed and taken my chocolate I told Marcoline to dress herself with elegance, and to expect me in the evening just before the play began.  I could see that she was intensely delighted with the prospect.

I found Madame d’Urfe in bed, dressed with care and in the fashion of a young bride, and with a smile of satisfaction on her face which I had never remarked there before.

“To thee, beloved Galtinardus, I owe all my happiness,” said she, as she embraced me.

“I am happy to have contributed to it, divine Semiramis, but you must remember I am only the agent of the genii.”