“It’s a matter of give and take,” said I; “I am in love with the chevalier’s wife, and I am putting off my departure till I have got all I want out of her.”

“I am afraid you will have to pay pretty dearly for your pleasure.  However, I will do what I can for your interests.”

I thanked him smilingly, and returned to the lady, whom I left at eight o’clock under pretext of a violent headache, after having lost ten louis to her.  I reminded her of her promise for next morning at nine o’clock, and I left her in the midst of the company.

It was a fine moonlight night as I walked towards the peasant’s house, where I was to see my dear M——­ M——­ once more.  I was impatient to see what the visit, on which the rest of my life might depend, would bring forth.

I had taken the precaution to provide myself with a pair of pistols, and my sword hung at my side, for I was not wholly devoid of suspicion in this place, where there were so many adventurers; but at twenty paces from the cottage I saw the woman coming towards me.  She told me that the nun could not come down, so I must be content to enter through the window, by means of a ladder which she had placed there for the purpose.  I drew near, and not seeing any light I should not have easily decided on going up, if I had not heard the voice I thought I knew so well, saying, “Fear nothing; come.”  Besides, the window was not very high up, and there could not be much danger of a trap.  I ascended, and thought for certain that I held my dear M——­ M——­ in my arms, as I covered her face with my ardent kisses.

“Why,” said I, in Venetian, “have you not a light?  I hope you are going to inform me of an event which seems wonderful to me; quick, dearest, satisfy my impatience.”

The reader will guess my surprise when he learns that on hearing her voice close to me I found that she was not M——­ M——.  She told me that she did not understand Venetian, and that I did not require a light to tell her what M. de Coudert had decided on doing to save her from her peril.

“You surprise me; I do not know M. de Coudert.  What!  Are you not a Venetian?  Are you not the nun I saw this morning?”

“Hapless one!  I have made a mistake.  I am the nun you saw this morning, but I am French.  In the name of God keep my counsel and begone, for I have nothing to say to you!  Whisper, for if the lay-sister woke up I should be undone.”

“Do not be afraid of my discretion.  What deceived me was your exact likeness to a nun of your order who will be always dear to me:  and if you had not allowed me to see your features I should not have followed you.  Forgive the tenderness I shewed towards you, though you must think me very audacious.”

“You astonished me very much, but you did not offend me.  I wish I were the nun in whom you are interested.  I am on the brink of a fearful precipice.”

“If ten louis are any good to you, it will be an honour for me to give you them.”