All the way I did my best to cheer her, for I knew only too well the fatal effects of melancholy on a pregnant woman, especially in such a delicate girl as Charlotte.

When I saw her completely settled I returned to the hotel, and the next day I took up my quarters with my brother.  However, as long as my Charlotte lived, I only slept at his house, for from nine in the morning till after midnight I was with my dear.

On October 13th Charlotte was attacked with a fever which never left her.  On the 17th she was happily delivered of a boy, which was immediately taken to the church and baptized at the express wishes of the mother.  Charlotte wrote down what its name was to be—­Jacques (after me), Charles (after her), son of Antonio della Croce and of Charlotte de (she gave her real name).  When it was brought from the church she told Madame Lamarre to carry it to the Foundling Hospital, with the certificate of baptism in its linen.  I vainly endeavoured to persuade her to leave the care of the child to me.  She said that if it lived the father could easily reclaim it.  On the same day, October 18th, the, midwife gave me the following certificate, which I still possess: 

It was worded as follows: 

“We, J. B. Dorival, Councillor to the King, Commissary of the Chatelet, formerly Superintendent of Police in the City of Paris, do certify that there has been taken to the Hospital for Children a male infant, appearing to be one day old, brought from the Faubourg St. Denis by the midwife Lamarre, and bearing a certificate of baptism to the effect that its name is Jacques Charles, son of Antonio della Croce and of Charlotte de——.  Wherefore, we have delivered the above certificate at our office in the City of Paris, this 18th day of October, in the year of our Lord, 1767, at seven o’clock in the afternoon.  “Dorival.”

If any of my readers have any curiosity to know the real name of the mother, I have given them the means of satisfying it.

After this I did not leave the bed of the invalid for a single instant.  In spite of all the doctor’s care the fever increased, and at five o’clock in the morning of October 26th, she succumbed to it.  An hour before she sighed her last, she bade me the last farewell in the presence of the venerable ecclesiastic who had confessed her at midnight.  The tears which gather fast as I write these words are probably the last honours I shall pay to this poor victim of a man who is still alive, and whose destiny seemed to be to make women unhappy.

I sat weeping by the bed of her I loved so dearly, and in vain Madame Lamarre tried to induce me to come and sit with her.  I loved the poor corpse better than all the world outside.

At noon my brother and his wife came to see me; they had not seen me for a week, and were getting anxious.  They saw the body lovely in death; they understood my tears, and mingled theirs with mine.  At last I asked them to leave me, and I remained all night by Charlotte’s bed, resolved not to leave it till her body had been consigned to the grave.