“That is enough.  I swear eternal gratitude, and to be as submissive to you as a good daughter ought to be.”

The religion and philosophy with which her heart and mind were fortified, though she made no parade of either, began to calm her spirit, and she proceeded to make some reflections on Croce’s unhappy lot, but all in pity not in anger, excusing his inveterate passion for play.  She had often heard from Croce’s lips the story of the Marseilles girl whom he had left penniless in an inn at Milan, commending her to my care.  She thought it something wonderful that I should again be intervening as the tutelary genius; but her situation was much the worse, for she was with child.

“There’s another difference,” I added, “for I made the fortune of the first by finding her an honest husband, whereas I should never have the courage to adopt the same method with the second.”

“While Croce lives I am no man’s wife but his, nevertheless I am glad to find myself free.”

When we were back in the house, I advised her to send away the servant and to pay his journey to Besanion, where she had taken him.  Thus all unpleasantness would be avoided.  I made her sell all that remained of her poor lover’s wardrobe, as also his carriage, for mine was a better one.  She shewed me all she had left, which only amounted to some sets of linen and three or four dresses.

We remained at Spa without going out of doors.  She could see that my love was a tenderer passion than the love of a father, and she told me so, and that she was obliged to me for the respect with which I treated her.  We sat together for hours, she folded in my arms, whilst I gently kissed her beautiful eyes, and asked no more.  I was happy in her gratitude and in my powers of self-restraint.  When temptation was too strong I left the beautiful girl till I was myself again, and such conquests made me proud.  In the affection between us there was somewhat of the purity of a man’s first love.

I wanted a small travelling cap, and the servant of the house went to my former lodging to order one.  Mercy brought several for me to choose from.  She blushed when she saw me, but I said nothing to her.  When she had gone I told Charlotte the whole story, and she laughed with all her heart when I reminded her of the bruise on my face when we first met, and informed her that Mercy had given it me.  She praised my firmness in rejecting her repentance, and agreed with me in thinking that the whole plan had been concerted between her and her aunt.

We left Spa without any servant, and when we reached Liege we took the way of the Ardennes, as she was afraid of being recognized if we passed through Brussels.  At Luxemburg we engaged a servant, who attended on us till we reached Paris.  All the way Charlotte was tender and affectionate, but her condition prescribed limits to her love, and I could only look forward to the time after her delivery.  We got down at Paris at the “Hotel Montmorenci,” in the street of the same name.