On going into the theatre I chanced to sit down beside a girl whom I did not notice at first, but soon after I came in she turned towards me, and I beheld a ravishing profile which somehow seemed familiar; but I attributed that to the idea of perfect beauty that was graven on my soul.  The more I looked at her the surer I felt that I had never seen her before, though a smile of inexpressible slyness had begun to play about her lips.  One of her gloves fell, and I hastened to restore it to her, whereupon she thanked me in a few well-chosen French sentences.

“Madam is not English, then?” said I, respectfully.

“No, sir, I am a Swiss, and a friend of yours.”

At this I looked round, and on my right hand sat Madame M——­ F——­, then her eldest daughter, then her husband.  I got up, and after bowing to the lady, for whom I had a great esteem, I saluted her husband, who only replied by a slight movement of the head.  I asked Madame M——­ F——­ what her husband had against me, and she said that Possano had written to him telling some dreadful stories about me.

There was not time for me to explain and justify myself, so I devoted all my energies to the task of winning the daughter’s good graces.  In three years she had grown into a perfect beauty:  she knew it, and by her blushes as she spoke to me I knew she was thinking of what had passed between us in the presence of my housekeeper.  I was anxious to find out whether she would acknowledge the fact, or deny it altogether.  If she had done so I should have despised her.  When I had seen her before, the blossom of her beauty was still in the bud, now it had opened out in all its splendour.

“Charming Sara,” I said, “you have so enchanted me that I cannot help asking you a couple of questions, which if you value my peace of mind you will answer.  Do you remember what happened at Berne?”

“Yes.”

“And do you repent of what you did?”

“No.”

No man of any delicacy could ask the third question, which may be understood.  I felt sure that Sara would make me happy-nay, that she was even longing for the moment, and gave reins to my passions, determined to convince her that I was deserving of her love.  The waiter came to enquire if we had any orders, and I begged Madame M——­ F——­ to allow me to offer her some oysters.  After the usual polite refusals she gave in, and I profited by her acceptance to order all the delicacies of the season, including a hare (a great delicacy in London), champagne, choice liqueurs, larks, ortolans, truffles, sweetmeats—­everything, in fact, that money could buy, and I was not at all surprised when the bill proved to amount to ten guineas.  But I was very much surprised when M. M——­ F——­, who had eaten like a Turk and drunk like a Swiss, said calmly that it was too dear.

I begged him politely not to trouble himself about the cost; and by way of proving that I did not share his opinion, I gave the waiter half-a-guinea; the worthy man looked as if he wished that such customers came more often.  The Swiss, who had been pale and gloomy enough a short while before; was rubicund and affable.  Sara glanced at me and squeezed my hand; I had conquered.