“Sir,—­As I have the knack of putting an end to an intrigue when it has ceased to amuse me, I have no hesitation in accepting your proposal.  As to the sentiments with which you say I have inspired you, I will do my best to share them, and to make you happy.  Your supper shall be ready, and later on we will settle the price of the dessert.  I shall be delighted to accept the place in your carriage if you can obtain my expenses to Paris as well as my passport.  And finally, I hope you will find my plain speaking on a match with yours.  Good bye, till the evening.”

I found my new friend in a comfortable lodging, and we accosted each other as if we had been old acquaintances.

“I shall be delighted to travel with you,” said she, “but I don’t think you will be able to get my passport.”

“I have no doubt as to my success,” I replied, “if you will present to the empress the petition I shall draft for you.”

“I will surely do so,” said she, giving me writing materials.

I wrote out the following petition,—­

“Your Majesty,—­I venture to remind your highness that my enforced idleness is making me forget my art, which I have not yet learnt thoroughly.  Your majesty’s generosity is therefore doing me an injury, and your majesty would do me a great benefit in giving me permission to leave St. Petersburg.”

“Nothing more than that?”

“Not a word.”

“You say nothing about the passport, and nothing about the journey-money.  I am not a rich woman.”

“Do you only present this petition; and, unless I am very much mistaken, you will have, not only your journey-money, but also your year’s salary.”

“Oh, that would be too much!”

“Not at all.  You do not know Catherine, but I do.  Have this copied, and present it in person.”

“I will copy it out myself, for I can write a good enough hand.  Indeed, it almost seems as if I had composed it; it is exactly my style.  I believe you are a better actor than I am, and from this evening I shall call myself your pupil.  Come, let us have some supper, that you may give me my first lesson.”

After a delicate supper, seasoned by pleasant and witty talk, Madame Valville granted me all I could desire.  I went downstairs for a moment to send away my coachman and to instruct him what he was to say to Zaira, whom I had forewarned that I was going to Cronstadt, and might not return till the next day.  My coachman was a Ukrainian on whose fidelity I could rely, but I knew that it would be necessary for me to be off with the old love before I was on with the new.

Madame Valville was like most young Frenchwomen of her class; she had charms which she wished to turn to account, and a passable education; her ambition was to be kept by one man, and the title of mistress was more pleasing in her ears than that of wife.