“’Tis a good omen,” said he, “and without any superstition I believe that the good genius of the lottery has brought me to Berlin just now.”

I laughed at his illusions, but I pitied him.  I shewed him the impossibility of convincing an individual whose only argument was, “I am afraid, and I don’t wish to be afraid any longer.”  He begged me to stay to dinner and introduced me to his wife.  This was a double surprise for me, in the first place because I thought General La Motte, as his first wife was called, to be still living, and in the second place because I recognized in this second wife of his, Mdlle.  Belanger.  I addressed the usual compliments to her and enquired after her mother.  She replied with a profound sigh, and told me not to ask any questions about her family as she had only bad news to tell me.

I had known Madame Belanger at Paris; she was a widow with one daughter, and seemed to be well off.  Now I saw this daughter, pretty enough and well married, and yet in this doleful humour, and I felt embarrassed and yet curious.

After Calsabigi had placed me in a position to entertain a high opinion of the skill of his cook, he shewed me his horses and carriages, begging me to take a drive with his wife and come back to supper, which, as he said, was his best meal.

When we were in the carriage together, the necessity of talking about something led me to ask the lady by what happy chain of circumstances she found herself the wife of Calsabigi.

“His real wife is still alive, so I have not the misfortune of occupying that position, but everyone in Berlin thinks I am his lawful wife.  Three years ago I was deprived of my mother and the means of livelihood at one stroke, for my mother had an annuity.  None of my relations were rich enough to help me, and wishing to live virtuously above all things I subsisted for two years on the sale of my mother’s furniture, boarding with a worthy woman who made her living by embroidery.  I learnt her art, and only went out to mass on Sundays.  I was a prey to melancholy, and when I had spent all I had I went to M. Brea, a Genoese, on whom I thought I could rely.  I begged him to get me a place as a mere waiting-maid, thinking that I was tolerably competent for such a position.  He promised to do what he could for me, and five or six days afterwards he made me the following proposal: 

“He read me a letter from Calsabigi, of whom I had never heard, in which he charged him to send a virtuous young lady to Berlin.  She must be of good birth, good education, and pleasant appearance, as when his aged and infirm wife died he intended to marry her.