At supper we talked over our journey, and M. M——­ F——­ agreed with me that it would be better to go by Dunkirk than Ostend.  He had very little more business to attend to.  His debts were paid, and he said he thought he would have a matter of fifty guineas in his pocket at the journey’s end, after paying a third share of all the travelling expenses.  I had to agree to this, though I made up my mind at the same time not to let him see any of the accounts.  I hoped to win Sara, in one way or another, when we got to Berne.

The next day, after breakfast, I took her hand in presence of her mother, and asked her if she would give me her heart if I could obtain her father’s consent at Berne.

“Your mother,” I added, “has promised me that hers shall not be wanting.”

At this the mother got up, and saying that we had no doubt a good deal to talk over, she and her eldest daughter went out to pay some calls.

As soon as we were alone Sara said that she could not understand how I could have the smallest doubt as to whether her consent would be given.

“I have shewn you how well I love you,” said she, tenderly; “and I am sure I should be very happy as your wife.  You may be sure that your wishes will be mine, and that, however far you lead me, Switzerland shall claim no thought of mine.”

I pressed the amorous Sara to my bosom in a transport of delight, which was shared by her; but as she saw me grow more ardent she begged me to be moderate.  Clasping me in her arms she adjured me not to ask her for that which she was determined not to grant till she was mine by lawful wedlock.

“You will drive me to despair!  Have you reflected that this resistance may cost me my life?  Can you love, and yet entertain this fatal prejudice?  And yet I am sure you love me, and pleasure too.”

“Yes, dearest one, I do love you, and amorous pleasure with you; but you must respect my delicacy.”

My eyes were wet with tears, and she was so affected that she fell fainting to the ground.  I lifted her up and gently laid her on the bed.  Her pallor alarmed me.  I brought smelling-salts, I rubbed her forehead with Savoy-water, and she soon opened her eyes, and seemed delighted to find me calm again.

The thought of taking advantage of her helplessness would have horrified me.  She sat up on the bed, and said,—­

“You have just given a true proof of the sincerity of your affection.”

“Did you think, sweetheart, that I was vile enough to abuse your weakness?  Could I enjoy a pleasure in which you had no share?”

“I did not think you would do such a thing, but I should not have resisted, though it is possible that I should not have loved you afterwards.”

“Sara, though you do not know, you charm my soul out of my body.”

After this I sat down sadly on the bed, and abandoned myself to the most melancholy reflections, from which Sara did not endeavour to rouse me.