“This is for my sister, I suppose?”

“No, dear Annette, it’s for you.”

She gave a skip of delight, and I could not prevent her kissing my hand.

I proceeded to write Rosalie a letter of four pages.  I felt worried and displeased with myself and everyone else.  I tore up my letter without reading it over, and making an effort to calm myself I wrote her another letter more subdued than the first, in which I said nothing of Veronique, but informed my fair recluse that I was going on the day following.

I did not go to bed till very late, feeling out of temper with the world.  I considered that I had failed in my duty to Veronique, whether she loved me or not, for I loved her and I was a man of honour.  I had a bad night, and when I awoke it was noon, and on ringing Costa and Annette appeared.  The absence of Veronique shewed how I had offended her.  When Costa had left the room I asked Annette after her sister, and she said that she was working.  I wrote her a note, in which I begged her pardon, promising that I would never offend her again, and begging her to forget everything and to be just the same as before.  I was taking my coffee when she came into my room with an expression of mortification which grieved me excessively.

“Forget everything, I beg, and I will trouble you no more.  Give me my buckles, as I am going for a country walk, and I shall not be in till suppertime.  I shall doubtless get an excellent appetite, and as you have nothing more to fear you need not trouble to send me Annette again.”

I dressed myself in haste, and left the town by the first road that came in my way, and I walked fast for two hours with the intention of tiring myself, and of thus readjusting the balance between mind and body.  I have always found that severe exercise and fresh air are the best cure for any mental perturbation.

I had walked for more than three leagues when hunger and weariness made me stop at a village inn, where I had an omelette cooked.  I ate it hungrily with brown bread and wine, which seemed to me delicious though it was rather sharp.

I felt too tired to walk back to Genoa, so I asked for a carriage; but there was no such thing to be had.  The inn-keeper provided me with a sorry nag and a man to guide me.  Darkness was coming on, and we had more than six miles to do.  Fine rain began to fall when I started, and continued all the way, so that I got home by eight o’clock wet to the skin, shivering with cold, dead tired, and in a sore plight from the rough saddle, against which my satin breeches were no protection.  Costa helped me to change my clothes, and as he went out Annette came in.

“Where is your sister?”

“She is in bed with a bad headache.  She gave me a letter for you; here it is.”

“I have been obliged to go to bed on account of a severe headache to which I am subject.  I feel better already, and I shall be able to wait on you to-morrow.  I tell you as much, because I do not wish you to think that my illness is feigned.  I am sure that your repentance for having humiliated me is sincere, and I hope in your turn that you will forgive me or pity me, if my way of thinking prevents me from conforming to yours.”