In the intervals of four amorous combats she told me enough of her life for me to divine what it had been.  Clerval, the actor, had been gathering together a company of actors at Paris, and making her acquaintance by chance and finding her to be intelligent, he assured her that she was a born actress, though she had never suspected it.  The idea had dazzled her, and she had signed the agreement.  She started from Paris with six other actors and actresses, of whom she was the only one that had never played.

“I thought,” she said, “it was like what is done at Paris, where a girl goes into the chorus or the ballet without having learnt to sing or dance.  What else could I think, after an actor like Clerval had assured me I had a talent for acting and had offered me a good engagement?  All he required of me was that I should learn by heart and repeat certain passages which I rehearsed in his presence.  He said I made a capital soubrette, and he certainly could not have been trying to deceive me, but the fact is he was deceived himself.  A fortnight after my arrival I made my first appearance, and my reception was not a flattering one.”

“Perhaps you were nervous?”

“Nervous? not in the least.  Clerval said that if I could have put on the appearance of nervousness the empress, who is kindness itself, would certainly have encouraged me.”

I left her the next morning after I had seen her copy out the petition.  She wrote a very good hand.

“I shall present it to-day,” said she.

I wished her good luck, and arranged to sup with her again on the day I meant to part with Zaira.

All French girls who sacrifice to Venus are in the same style as the Valville; they are entirely without passion or love, but they are pleasant and caressing.  They have only one object; and that is their own profit.  They make and unmake an intrigue with a smiling face and without the slightest difficulty.  It is their system, and if it be not absolutely the best it is certainly the most convenient.

When I got home I found Zaira submissive but sad, which annoyed me more than anger would have done, for I loved her.  However, it was time to bring the matter to an end, and to make up my mind to endure the pain of parting.

Rinaldi, the architect, a man of seventy, but still vigorous and sensual, was in love with her, and he had hinted to me several times that he would be only too happy to take her over and to pay double the sum I had given for her.  My answer had been that I could only give her to a man she liked, and that I meant to make her a present of the hundred roubles I had given for her.  Rinaldi did not like this answer, as he had not very strong hopes of the girl taking a fancy to him; however, he did not despair.

He happened to call on me on the very morning on which I had determined to give her up, and as he spoke Russian perfectly he gave Zaira to understand how much he loved her.  Her answer was that he must apply to me, as my will was law to her, but that she neither liked nor disliked anyone else.  The old man could not obtain any more positive reply and left us with but feeble hopes, but commending himself to my good offices.