The young lady, whom out of respect for her and her family I called Crosin, was charming.  There was an air of nobility and high-bred reserve about her which bore witness to her excellent upbringing.  As I sat next to her, I congratulated myself on my immunity from love of her, but the reader will guess that I was mistaken.  I told Clairmont that she was to be called my niece, and to be treated with the utmost respect.

I had had no opportunity of conversing with her, so the first thing I did was to test her intelligence, and though I had not the slightest intention of paying my court to her, I felt that it would be well to inspire her with friendship and confidence as far as I was concerned.

The scar which my late amours had left was still bleeding, and I was glad to think that I should be able to restore the young Marseillaise to the paternal hearth without any painful partings or vain regrets.  I enjoyed in advance my meritorious action, and I was quite vain to see my self-restraint come to such a pitch that I was able to live in close intimacy with a pretty girl without any other desire than that of rescuing her from the shame into which she might have fallen if she had traveled alone.  She felt my kindness to her, and said,—­

“I am sure M. de la Croix would not have abandoned me if he had not met you at Milan.”

“You are very charitable, but I am unable to share in your good opinion.  To my mind Croce has behaved in a rascally manner, to say the least of it, for in spite of your many charms he had no right to count on me in the matter.  I will not say that he openly scorned you, since he might have acted from despair; but I am sure he must have ceased to love you, or he could never have abandoned you thus.”

“I am sure of the contrary.  He saw that he had no means of providing for me, and he had to choose between leaving me and killing himself.”

“Not at all.  He ought to have sold all he had and sent you back to Marseilles.  Your journey to Genoa would not have cost much, and thence you could have gone to Marseilles by sea.  Croce counted on my having been interested in your pretty face, and he was right; but you must see that he exposed you to a great risk.  You must not be offended if I tell you the plain truth.  If your face had not inspired me with a lively interest in you, I should have only felt ordinary compassion on reading your appeal, and this would not have been enough to force me to great sacrifices of time and trouble.  But I have no business to be blaming Croce.  You are hurt; I see you are still in love with him.”

“I confess it, and I pity him.  As for myself, I only pity my cruel destiny.  I shall never see him again, but I shall never love anyone else, for my mind is made up.  I shall go into a convent and expiate my sins.  My father will pardon me, for he is a man of an excellent heart.  I have been the victim of love; my will was not my own.  The seductive influence of passion ravished my reason from me, and the only thing that I blame myself for is for not having fortified my mind against it.  Otherwise I cannot see that I have sinned deeply, but I confess I have done wrong.”