“I am sorry,” I said, “to have sent Le Duc, as the harpy is violent, and I am afraid of something happening to him.”

“Don’t be afraid,” she replied, “nothing will happen, and it is better that they should see each other; it makes it more certain.  Send her the money directly; she will have to give it to him herself, and your vengeance will be complete.  She will not be able to entertain the slightest suspicion, especially if Le Duc shews her her work, and in two or three hours you will have the pleasure of hearing everything from his lips.  You have reason to bless your stars, as the honour of the woman you love is safe.  The only thing that can trouble you is the remembrance of the widow’s foul embraces, and the certainty that the prostitute has communicated her complaint to you.  Nevertheless, I hope it may prove a slight attack and be easily cured.  An inveterate leucorrhoea is not exactly a venereal disease, and I have heard people in London say that it was rarely contagious.  We ought to be very thankful that she is going to Lucerne.  Laugh and be thankful; there is certainly a comic touch in our drama.”

“Unfortunately, it is tragi-comic.  I know the human heart, and I am sure that I must have forfeited Madame’s affections.”

“It is true that——­; but this is not the time to be thinking of such matters.  Quick! write to her briefly and return her the twenty-five Louis.”

My reply was as follows: 

“Your unworthy suspicions, your abominable design of revenge, and the impudent letter you wrote me, are the only causes of your no doubt bitter repentance.  I hope that it will restore peace to your conscience.  Our messengers have crossed, through no fault of mine.  I send you the twenty-five Louis; you can give them to the man yourself.  I could not prevent my servant from paying you a visit, but this time you will not keep him two hours, and you will not find it difficult to appease his anger.  I wish you a good journey, and I shall certainly flee all occasions of meeting you, for I always avoid the horrible; and you must know, odious woman, that it isn’t everybody who endeavours to ruin the reputation of their friends.  If you see the apostolic nuncio at Lucerne, ask him about me, and he will tell you what sort of a reputation I have in Europe.  I can assure you that Le Duc has only spoken to me of his misadventure, and that if you treat him well he will be discreet, as he certainly has nothing to boast of.  Farewell.”

My dear Minerva approved of this letter, and I sent it with the money by the messenger.

“The piece is not yet done,” said my housekeeper, “we have three scenes more:” 

“What are they?”

“The return of your Spaniard, the appearance of the disease, and the astonishment of Madame when she hears it all.”