“My uncle will write for me, for I have never been taught writing.”

“What, my dear child! you wish to become the wife of a Venetian, and you cannot write.”

“Is it then necessary to know how to write in order to become a wife?  I can read well.”

“That is not enough, and although a girl can be a wife and a mother without knowing how to trace one letter, it is generally admitted that a young girl ought to be able to write.  I wonder you never learned.”

“There is no wonder in that, for not one girl in our village can do it.  Ask my uncle.”

“It is perfectly true, but there is not one who thinks of getting married in Venice, and as you wish for a Venetian husband you must learn.”

“Certainly,” I said, “and before you come to Venice, for everybody would laugh at you, if you could not write.  I see that it makes you sad, my dear, but it cannot be helped.”

“I am sad, because I cannot learn writing in a week.”

“I undertake,” said her uncle, “to teach you in a fortnight, if you will only practice diligently.  You will then know enough to be able to improve by your own exertions.”

“It is a great undertaking, but I accept it; I promise you to work night and day, and to begin to-morrow.”

After dinner, I advised the priest not to leave that evening, to rest during the night, and I observed that, by going away before day-break, he would reach P——­ in good time, and feel all the better for it.  I made the same proposal to him in the evening, and when he saw that his niece was sleepy, he was easily persuaded to remain.  I called for the innkeeper, ordered a carriage for the clergyman, and desired that a fire might be lit for me in the next room where I would sleep, but the good priest said that it was unnecessary, because there were two large beds in our room, that one would be for me and the other for him and his niece.

“We need not undress,” he added, “as we mean to leave very early, but you can take off your clothes, sir, because you are not going with us, and you will like to remain in bed to-morrow morning.”

“Oh!” remarked Christine, “I must undress myself, otherwise I could not sleep, but I only want a few minutes to get ready in the morning.”

I said nothing, but I was amazed.  Christine then, lovely and charming enough to wreck the chastity of a Xenocrates, would sleep naked with her uncle!  True, he was old, devout, and without any of the ideas which might render such a position dangerous, yet the priest was a man, he had evidently felt like all men, and he ought to have known the danger he was exposing himself to.  My carnal-mindedness could not realize such a state of innocence.  But it was truly innocent, so much so that he did it openly, and did not suppose that anyone could see anything wrong in it.  I saw it all plainly, but I was not accustomed to such things, and felt lost in wonderment.  As I advanced in age and in experience, I have seen the same custom established in many countries amongst honest people whose good morals were in no way debased by it, but it was amongst good people, and I do not pretend to belong to that worthy class.