“What a beautiful wife I shall have!  Nay, don’t move, let me look at you so.”  My hand began to press the bosom of her dress, where were imprisoned two spheres which seemed to lament their captivity.  I went farther, I began to untie strings . . . for where does desire stop short?

“Sweetheart, I cannot resist, but you will not love me afterwards.”

“I will always love you:” 

Soon her beautiful breasts were exposed to my burning kisses.  The flame of my love lit another in her heart, and forgetting her former self she opened her arms to me, making me promise not to despise her, and what would one not promise!  The modesty inherent in the sex, the fear of results, perhaps a kind of instinct which reveals to them the natural faithlessness of men make women ask for such promises, but what mistress, if really amorous, would even think of asking her lover to respect her in the moment of delirious ecstacy, when all one’s being is centred on the fulfilment of desire?

After we had passed an hour in these amorous toyings, which set my sweetheart on fire, her charms having never before been exposed to the burning lips or the free caresses of a man, I said to her,

“I grieve to leave you without having rendered to your beauty the greatest homage which it deserves so well.”

A sigh was her only answer.

It was cold, the fire was out, and I had to spend the night on the sofa.

“Give me a coverlet, dearest, that I may go away from you, for I should die here between love and cold if you made me abstain.”

“Lie where I have been, sweetheart.  I will get up and rekindle the fire.”

She got up in all her naked charms, and as she put a stick to the fire the flame leapt up; I rose, I found her standing so as to display all her beauties, and I could refrain no longer.  I pressed her to my heart, she returned my caresses, and till day-break we gave ourselves up to an ecstacy of pleasure.

We had spent four or five delicious hours on the sofa.  She then left me, and after making a good fire she went to her room, and I remained on the sofa and slept till noon.  I was awakened by Madame, who wore a graceful undress.

“Still asleep, M. Casanova?”

“Ah! good morning, madam, good morning.  And what has become of my friend?”

“He has become mine, I have forgiven him.”

“What has he done to be worthy of so generous a pardon?”

“He proved to me that he made a mistake.”

“I am delighted to hear it; where is he?”

“He has gone home, where you will find him; but don’t say anything about your spending the night here, or he will think it was spent with my niece.  I am very much obliged to you for what you have done, and I have only to ask you to be discreet.”

“You can count on me entirely, for I am grateful to you for having forgiven my friend.”

“Who would not do so?  The dear young man is something more than mortal.  If you knew how he loved me!  I am grateful to him, and I have taken him to board for a year; he will be well lodged, well fed, and so on.”