Two days afterwards, on the 4th of February, 1754, I had the supreme felicity of finding myself again alone with my beloved mistress.  She wore the dress of a nun.  As we both felt guilty, the moment we saw each other, by a spontaneous movement, we fell both on our knees, folded in each other’s arms.  We had both ill-treated Love; she had treated him like a child, I had adored him after the fashion of a Jansenist.  But where could we have found the proper language for the excuses we had to address to each other for the mutual forgiveness we had to entreat and to grant?  Kisses—­that mute, yet expressive language, that delicate, voluptuous contact which sends sentiment coursing rapidly through the veins, which expresses at the same time the feeling of the heart and the impressions of the mind—­that language was the only one we had recourse to, and without having uttered one syllable, dear reader, oh, how well we agreed!

Both overwhelmed with emotion, longing to give one another some proofs of the sincerity of our reconciliation and of the ardent fire which was consuming us, we rose without unclasping our arms, and falling (a most amorous group!) on the nearest sofa, we remained there until the heaving of a deep sigh which we would not have stopped, even if we had known that it was to be the last!

Thus was completed our happy reconciliation, and the calm infused into the soul by contentment, burst into a hearty laugh when we noticed that I had kept on my cloak and my mask.  After we had enjoyed our mirth, I unmasked myself, and I asked her whether it was quite true that no one had witnessed our reconciliation.

She took up one of the candlesticks, and seizing my hand: 

“Come,” she said.

She led me to the other end of the room, before a large cupboard which I had already suspected of containing the secret.  She opened it, and when she had moved a sliding plank I saw a door through which we entered a pretty closet furnished with everything necessary to a person wishing to pass a few hours there.  Near the sofa was a sliding panel.  M——­ M——­ removed it, and through twenty holes placed at a distance from each other I saw every part of the room in which nature and love had performed for our curious friend a play in six acts, during which I did not think he had occasion to be dissatisfied with the actors.

“Now,” said M——­ M——­, “I am going to satisfy the curiosity which you were prudent enough not to trust to paper.”

“But you cannot guess....”

“Silence, dearest!  Love would not be of divine origin did he not possess the faculty of divination.  He knows all, and here is the proof.  Do you not wish to know whether my friend was with me during the fatal night which has cost me so many tears?”

“You have guessed rightly.”

“Well, then, he was with me, and you must not be angry, for you then completed your conquest of him.  He admired your character, your love, your sentiments, your honesty.  He could not help expressing his astonishment at the rectitude of my instinct, or his approval of the passion I felt for you.  It was he who consoled me in the morning assuring me that you would certainly come back to me as soon as you knew my real feelings, the loyalty of my intentions and my good faith.”