The first thing I resolved on, as soon as I discovered the state I was in, was to confess everything to Madame F——.  I did not wish to wait for the time when a compulsory confession would have made her blush for her weakness, and given her cause to think of the fearful consequences which might have been the result of her passion for me.  Her affection was too dear to me to run the risk of losing it through a want of confidence in her.  Knowing her heart, her candour, and the generosity which had prompted her to say that I was more to be pitied than blamed, I thought myself bound to prove by my sincerity that I deserved her esteem.

I told her candidly my position and the state I had been thrown in, when I thought of the dreadful consequences it might have had for her.  I saw her shudder and tremble, and she turned pale with fear when I added that I would have avenged her by killing myself.

“Villainous, infamous Melulla!” she exclaimed.

And I repeated those words, but turning them against myself when I realized all I had sacrificed through the most disgusting weakness.

Everyone in Corfu knew of my visit to the wretched Melulla, and everyone seemed surprised to see the appearance of health on my countenance; for many were the victims that she had treated like me.

My illness was not my only sorrow; I had others which, although of a different nature, were not less serious.  It was written in the book of fate that I should return to Venice a simple ensign as when I left:  the general did not keep his word, and the bastard son of a nobleman was promoted to the lieutenancy instead of myself.  From that moment the military profession, the one most subject to arbitrary despotism, inspired me with disgust, and I determined to give it up.  But I had another still more important motive for sorrow in the fickleness of fortune which had completely turned against me.  I remarked that, from the time of my degradation with Melulla, every kind of misfortune befell me.  The greatest of all—­that which I felt most, but which I had the good sense to try and consider a favour—­was that a week before the departure of the army M. D——­ R——­ took me again for his adjutant, and M. F——­ had to engage another in my place.  On the occasion of that change Madame F told me, with an appearance of regret, that in Venice we could not, for many reasons, continue our intimacy.  I begged her to spare me the reasons, as I foresaw that they would only throw humiliation upon me.  I began to discover that the goddess I had worshipped was, after all, a poor human being like all other women, and to think that I should have been very foolish to give up my life for her.  I probed in one day the real worth of her heart, for she told me, I cannot recollect in reference to what, that I excited her pity.  I saw clearly that she no longer loved me; pity is a debasing feeling which cannot find a home in a heart full of love, for that dreary sentiment is too near a relative of contempt.  Since that time I never found myself alone with Madame F——.  I loved her still; I could easily have made her blush, but I did not do it.