When we were in the carriage, she said,—­

“You lost an immense sum, and I am very glad of it.  The marquis will give you a thousand sequins, and the money will bring you luck.”

“And you, too, for I suppose you will have the dress?”

“Maybe.”

“No, madam, you shall never have it in this way, and you know the other.  I despise a thousand sequins.”

“And I despise you and your presents.”

“You may despise me as much as you please, and you may be sure I despise you.”

With these polite expressions we reached the house.  When I got to my room I found the count there with a long face, as if he wanted to pity me but dared not do it.  However, my good temper gave him the courage to say:—­

“Triulzi will give you a thousand sequins; that will fit you up again.”

“For the dress you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I wanted to give it to your wife, but she said she would despise it, coming from my hands.”

“You astonish me; she is mad after it.  You must have wounded her haughty temper in some way or another.  But sell it, and get the thousand sequins.”

“I will let you know to-morrow.”

I slept four or five hours, and then rose and went out in my great coat to call on Greppi, for I had no more money.  I took a thousand sequins, begging him not to tell my affairs to anyone.  He replied that my affairs were his own, and that I could count on his secrecy.  He complimented me on the esteem in which Madame Palesi held me, and said he hoped to meet me at supper at her house one night.

“Such a meeting would give me the greatest pleasure,” I replied.

On leaving him I called on Therese, but as there were some people with her I did not stay long.  I was glad to see that she knew nothing about my losses or my affairs.  She said that Greppi wanted to sup with me at her house, and that she would let me know when the day was fixed.  When I got home I found the count in front of my fire.

“My wife is in a furious rage with you,” said he, “and won’t tell me why.”

“The reason is, my dear count, that I won’t let her accept the dress from any hand but mine.  She told me that she should despise it as a gift from me, but she has nothing to be furious about that I know.”

“It’s some mad notion of hers, and I don’t know what to make of it.  But pray attend to what I am about to say to you.  You despise a thousand sequins—­good.  I congratulate you.  But if you are in a position to despise a sum which would make me happy, offer up a foolish vanity on the shrine of friendship, take the thousand sequins, and lend them to me, and let my wife have the dress, for of course he will give it her.”

This proposal made me roar with laughter, and certainly it was of a nature to excite the hilarity of a sufferer from confirmed melancholia, which I was far from being.  However, I stopped laughing when I saw how the poor count blushed from shame.  I kissed him affectionately to calm him, but at last I was cruel enough to say,