I thought I was dreaming when I heard a young woman in her position reasoning with more acuteness than Minerva displays in her colloquies with Telemachus.  She had captured not only my esteem but my respect.

“Yes, my dear,” I answered, “let us think over some plan for delivering a woman who deserves the respect of all good men from this imminent danger; and the very thought that we have some chance of success makes me indebted to you.  Let us think of it and talk of it from noon to night.  Think kindly of Madame——­, pardon her first slip, protect her honour, and have pity on my distress.  From henceforth call me no more your master but your friend.  I will be your friend till death; I swear it to you.  What you say is full of wisdom; my heart is yours.  Embrace me.”

“No, no, that is not necessary; we are young people, and we might perhaps allow ourselves to go astray.  I only wish for your friendship; but I do not want you to give it to me for nothing.  I wish to deserve it by giving you solid proofs of my friendship for you.  In the meanwhile I will tell them to serve dinner, and I hope that after you have eaten something you will be quite well.”

I was astonished at her sagacity.  It might all be calculated artifice, and her aim might be to seduce me, but I did not trouble myself about that.  I found myself almost in love with her, and like to be the dupe of her principles, which would have made themselves felt, even if she had openly shared my love.  I decided that I would add no fuel to my flames, and felt certain that they would go out of their own accord.  By leaving my love thus desolate it would die of exhaustion.  I argued like a fool.  I forgot that it is not possible to stop at friendship with a pretty woman whom one sees constantly, and especially when one suspects her of being in love herself.  At its height friendship becomes love, and the palliative one is forced to apply to soothe it for a moment only increases its intensity.  Such was the experience of Anacreon with Smerdis, and Cleobulus with Badyllus.  A Platonist who pretends that one is able to live with a young woman of whom one is fond, without becoming more than her friend, is a visionary who knows not what he says.  My housekeeper was too young, too pretty, and above all too pleasant, she had too keen a wit, for me not to be captivated by all these qualities conjoined; I was bound to become her lover.

We dined quietly together without saying anything about the affair we had at heart, for nothing is more imprudent or more dangerous than to speak in the presence of servants, who out of maliciousness or ignorance put the worst construction on what they hear; add or diminish, and think themselves privileged to divulge their master’s secrets, especially as they know them without having been entrusted with them.

As soon as we were alone, my dear Dubois asked me if I had sufficient proof of Le Duc’s fidelity.