The tone of that letter, which I have copied word by word, surprised me even more than the offer it contained.  I had business to attend to, but I gave up all engagements to lock myself in my room in order to answer it.  Such an application betokened an extravagant mind, but there was in it a certain dignity, a singularity, which attracted me.  I had an idea that the writer might be the same nun who taught French to C——­ C——.  She had represented her friend in her letters as handsome, rich, gallant, and generous.  My dear wife had, perhaps, been guilty of some indiscretion.  A thousand fancies whirled through my brain, but I would entertain only those which were favourable to a scheme highly pleasing to me.  Besides, my young friend had informed me that the nun who had given her French lessons was not the only one in the convent who spoke that language.  I had no reason to suppose that, if C——­ C——­ had made a confidante of her friend, she would have made a mystery of it to me.  But, for all that, the nun who had written to me might be the beautiful friend of my dear little wife, and she might also turn out to be a different person; I felt somewhat puzzled.  Here is, however, the letter which I thought I could write without implicating myself: 

“I answer in French, madam, in the hope that my letter will have the clearness and the precision of which you give me the example in yours.

“The subject is highly interesting and of the highest importance, considering all the circumstances.  As I must answer without knowing the person to whom I am writing, you must feel, madam, that, unless I should possess a large dose of vanity, I must fear some mystification, and my honour requires that I should keep on my guard.

“If it is true that the person who has penned that letter is a respectable woman, who renders me justice in supposing me endowed with feeling as noble as her own, she will find, I trust, that I could not answer in any other way than I am doing now.

“If you have judged me worthy, madam, of the honour which you do me by offering me your acquaintance, although your good opinion can have been formed only from my personal appearance, I feel it my duty to obey you, even if the result be to undeceive you by proving that I had unwittingly led you into a mistaken appreciation of my person.

“Of the three proposals which you so kindly made in your letter, I dare not accept any but the first, with the restriction suggested by your penetrating mind.  I will accompany to the parlour of your convent a lady who shall not know who I am, and, consequently, shall have no occasion to introduce me.

“Do not judge too severely, madam, the specious reasons which compel me not to give you my name, and receive my word of honour that I shall learn yours only to render you homage.  If you choose to speak to me, I will answer with the most profound respect.  Permit me to hope that you will come to the parlour alone.  I may mention that I am a Venetian, and perfectly free.