The manner in which Emilie spoke, always with Armelline’s approbation, convinced me that their modesty was genuine.  I penetrated her idea; she thought that in acceding to my request she would be lowering herself in my eyes, and that I should despise her ever after.  Nevertheless Emilie was a woman of twenty-seven, and by no means a devotee.

As for Armelline, I could see that she took Emilie for her model, and would have been ashamed of appearing less precise than her friend.  I thought she loved me, and that, contrary to the general rule, she would be more easily won by herself than in company with her friend.

I made the trial one morning when she appeared at the grating by herself, telling me that her governess was busy.  I said that I adored her and was the most hapless of men, for being a married man I had no hope of ever being able to clasp her to my arms and cover her with kisses.

“Can I continue to live, dear Armelline, with no other consolation than that of kissing your fair hands?”

At these words, pronounced with so much passion, she fixed her gaze on me, and after a few moments’ reflection she began to kiss my hands as ardently as I had kissed hers.

I begged her to put her mouth so that I might kiss it.  She blushed and looked down, and did nothing.  I bewailed my fate bitterly, but in vain.  She was deaf and dumb till Emilie came and asked us why we were so dull.

About this time, the beginning of 1771, I was visited by Mariuccia, whom I had married ten years before to a young hairdresser.  My readers may remember how I met her at Abbe Momolo’s.  During the three months I had been in Rome I had enquired in vain as to what had become of her; so that I was delighted when she made her appearance.

“I saw you at St. Peter’s,” said she, “at the midnight mass on Christmas Eve, but not daring to approach you because of the people with whom I was, I told a friend of mine to follow you and find out where you lived.”

“How is it that I have tried to find you out in vain for the last three months?”

“My husband set up at Frascati eight years ago, and we have lived there very happily ever since.”

“I am very glad to hear it.  Have you any children?”

“Four; and the eldest, who is nine years old, is very like you.”

“Do you love her?”

“I adore her, but I love the other three as well.”

As I wanted to go to breakfast with Armelline I begged Margarita to keep Mariuccia company till my return.

Mariuccia dined with me, and we spent a pleasant day together without attempting to renew our more tender relationship.  We had plenty to talk about, and she told me that Costa, my old servant, had come back to Rome in a splendid coach, three years after I had left, and that he had married one of Momolo’s daughters.

“He’s a rascal; he robbed me.”

“I guessed as much; his theft did him no good.  He left his wife two years after their marriage, and no one knows what has become of him.”