After sealing my letters, wishing to know whether the outer door was locked, I went out and saw Tonine in bed, sleeping peacefully, or pretending to do so.  I might have suspected her thoughts, but I had never been in a similar situation, and I measured the extremity of my grief by the indifference with which I looked at this girl; she was pretty, but for all that I felt that neither she nor I ran any risk.

Next day, waking very early, I called her, and she came in neatly dressed.  I gave her my letter to C——­ C——­, which enclosed the letter to M——­ M——­, telling her to take it to her mother and then to return to make my coffee.

“I shall dine at noon, Tonine,” I said, “take care to get what is necessary in good time.”

“Sir, I prepared yesterday’s supper myself, and if you like I can cook all your meals.”

“I am satisfied with your abilities, go on, and here is a sequin for expenses.”

“I still have a hundred and twenty sous remaining from the one you gave me yesterday, and that will be enough.”

“No, they are for yourself, and I shall give you as much every day.”

Her delight was so great that I could not prevent her covering my hand with kisses.  I took care to draw it back and not to kiss her in return, for I felt as if I should be obliged to laugh, and this would have dishonoured my grief.

The second day passed like the first.  Tonine was glad that I said no more about speaking to her mother, and drew the conclusion that her services were agreeable to me.  Feeling tired and weak, and fearing that I should not wake early enough to send the letter to the convent, but not wishing to rouse Tonine if she were asleep, I called her softly.  She rose immediately and came into my room with nothing on but a slight petticoat.  Pretending to see nothing, I gave her my letter, and told her to take it to her mother in the morning before she came into my room.  She went out, saying that my instructions should be carried out, but as soon as she was gone I could not resist saying to myself that she was very pretty; and I felt both sad and ashamed at the reflection that this girl could very easily console me.  I hugged my grief, and I determined to separate myself from a being who made me forget it.

“In the morning,” I said, “I will tell Laura to get me something less seducing;” but the night brought counsel, and in the morning I put on the armour of sophism, telling myself that my weakness was no fault of the girl’s, and that it would therefore be unjust to punish her for it.  We shall see, dear reader, how all this ended.

CHAPTER XXIII

Continues the Preceding Chapter—­M.  M. Recovers—­I Return to
Venice—­Tonine Consoles Me—­Decrease of My Love For M. M.—­Doctor
Righelini—­Curious Conversation With Him—­How This Conversation Affected
M. M.—­Mr. Murray Undeceived and Avenged