This letter affected me.  I felt that it was dictated by prudent, virtuous, and honourable feelings, and I found even more merit in the intellectual endowments of the girl than in her beauty.  I blushed at having in a manner led her astray, and I should have thought myself worthy of punishment if I had been capable of refusing the hand offered to me with so much nobility of feeling.  And a second but still a powerful consideration made me look complacently upon a fortune larger than I could reasonably expect to win.  Nevertheless, the idea of the marriage state, for which I felt I had no vocation, made me tremble.

I knew myself too well not to be aware that as a married man I should be unhappy, and, consequently, with the best intentions I should fail in making the woman’s life a happy one.  My uncertainty in the four days which she had wisely left me convinced me that I was not in love with her.  In spite of that, so weak was I that I could not summon up courage to reject her offer—­still less to tell her so frankly, which would have made her esteem me.

During these four days I was entirely absorbed in this one subject.  I bitterly repented of having outraged her modesty, for I now esteemed and respected her, but yet I could not make up my mind to repair the wrong I had done her.  I could not bear to incur her dislike, but the idea of tying myself down was dreadful to me; and such is the condition of a man who has to choose between two alternatives, and cannot make up his mind.

Fearing lest my evil genius should take me to the opera or elsewhere, and in spite of myself make me miss my appointment, I resolved to dine with the Lambertini without having come to any decision.  The pious niece of the Pope was at mass when I reached her house.  I found Tiretta engaged in playing on the flute, but as soon as he saw me he dropped the instrument, ran up to me, embraced me, and gave me back the money his suit had cost me.

“I see you are in cash, old fellow; I congratulate you.”

“It’s a grievous piece of luck to me, for the money is stolen, and I am sorry I have got it though I was an accomplice in the theft.”

“What! the money is stolen?”

“Yes, sharping is done here, and I have been taught to help.  I share in their ill-gotten gains because I have not the strength of mind to refuse.  My landlady and two or three women of the same sort pluck the pigeons.  The business does not suit me, and I am thinking of leaving it.  Sooner or later I shall kill or be killed, and either event will be the death of me, so I am thinking of leaving this cutthroat place as soon as possible.”

“I advise you—­nay, I bid you do so by all means, and I should think you had better be gone to-day than to-morrow.”

“I don’t want to do anything suddenly, as M. le Noir is a gentleman and my friend, and he thinks me a cousin to this wretched woman.  As he knows nothing of the infamous trade she carries on, he would suspect something, and perhaps would leave her after learning the reason of my departure.  I shall find some excuse or other in the course of the next five or six days, and then I will make haste and return to you.”