Three days afterwards, Dubois, who had gladly undertaken the commission, presented to Henriette a woman already somewhat advanced in years, pretty well dressed and respectable-looking, who, being poor, was glad of an opportunity of going back to France, her native country.  Her husband, an old military officer, had died a few months before, leaving her totally unprovided for.  Henriette engaged her, and told her to keep herself ready to start whenever M. Dubois should give her notice.  The day before the one fixed for our departure, M. d’Antoine dined with us, and, before taking leave of us, he gave Henriette a sealed letter for Geneva.

We left Parma late in the evening, and stopped only two hours in Turin, in order to engage a manservant whose services we required as far as Geneva.  The next day we ascended Mont Cenis in sedan-chairs, and we descended to the Novalaise in mountain-sledges.  On the fifth day we reached Geneva, and we put up at the Hotel des Balances.  The next morning, Henriette gave me a letter for the banker Tronchin, who, when he had read it, told me that he would call himself at the hotel, and bring me one thousand louis d’or.

I came back and we sat down to dinner.  We had not finished our meal when the banker was announced.  He had brought the thousand louis d’or, and told Henriette that he would give her two men whom he could recommend in every way.

She answered that she would leave Geneva as soon as she had the carriage which he was to provide for her, according to the letter I had delivered to him.  He promised that everything would be ready for the following day, and he left us.  It was indeed a terrible moment!  Grief almost benumbed us both.  We remained motionless, speechless, wrapped up in the most profound despair.

I broke that sad silence to tell her that the carriage which M. Tronchin would provide could not possibly be as comfortable and as safe as mine, and I entreated her to take it, assuring her that by accepting it she would give me a last proof of her affection.

“I will take in exchange, my dearest love, the carriage sent by the banker.”

“I accept the change, darling,” she answered, “it will be a great consolation to possess something which has belonged to you.”

As she said these words, she slipped in my pocket five rolls containing each one hundred louis d’or—­a slight consolation for my heart, which was almost broken by our cruel separation!  During the last twenty-four hours we could boast of no other eloquence but that which finds expression in tears, in sobs, and in those hackneyed but energetic exclamations, which two happy lovers are sure to address to reason, when in its sternness it compels them to part from one another in the very height of their felicity.  Henriette did not endeavour to lure me with any hope for the future, in order to allay my sorrow!  Far from that, she said to me,

“Once we are parted by fate, my best and only friend, never enquire after me, and, should chance throw you in my way, do not appear to know me.”