I was curious to see the cousin who was said to be prettier than the sisters, and as soon as the banker had gone I went downstairs to satisfy my curiosity.  I met the father and asked him which was Le Duc’s room, and thereon I went to see my fine fellow.  I found him sitting up in a comfortable bed with a rubicund face which did not look as if he were dangerously ill.

“What is the matter with you?

“Nothing, sir.  I am having a fine time of it.  Yesterday I thought I would be ill.”

“What made you think that?”

“The sight of the three Graces here, who are made of better stuff than your handsome housekeeper, who would not let me kiss her.  They are making me wait too long for my broth, however.  I shall have to speak severely about it.”

“Le Duc, you are a rascal.”

“Do you want me to get well?”

“I want you to put a stop to this farce, as I don’t like it.”  Just then the door opened, and the cousin came in with the broth.  I thought her ravishing, and I noticed that in waiting on Le Duc she had an imperious little air which well became her.

“I shall dine in bed,” said my Spaniard.

“You shall be attended to,” said the pretty girl, and she went out.

“She puts on big airs,” said Le Duc, “but that does not impose on me.  Don’t you think she is very pretty?”

“I think you are very impudent.  You ape your betters, and I don’t approve of it.  Get up.  You must wait on me at table, and afterwards you will eat your dinner by yourself, and try to get yourself respected as an honest man always is, whatever his condition, so long as he does not forget himself.  You must not stay any longer in this room, the doorkeeper will give you another.”

I went out, and on meeting the fair cousin I told her that I was jealous of the honour which she had done my man, and that I begged her to wait on him no longer.

“Oh, I am very glad!”

The door-keeper came up, and I gave him my orders, and went back to my room to write.

Before dinner the baron came and told me that he had just come from the lady to whom he had introduced me.  She was the wife of a barrister named Morin, and aunt to the young lady who had so interested me.

“I have been talking of you,” said the baron, “and of the impression her niece made on you.  She promised to send for her, and to keep her at the house all day.”

After a dinner as good as the supper of the night before, though different from it in its details, and appetising enough to awaken the dead, we went to see Madame Morin, who received us with the easy grace of a Parisian lady.  She introduced me to seven children, of whom she was the mother.  Her eldest daughter, an ordinary-looking girl, was twelve years old, but I should have taken her to be fourteen, and said so.  To convince me of her age the mother brought a book in which the year, the month, the day, the hour, and even the minute of her birth were entered.  I was astonished at such minute accuracy, and asked if she had had a horoscope drawn.