This was his watchword; and, as he leapt on me in a paroxysm of rage, more like a madman than a sensible being, I hit him four times.  At the fourth wound he stepped back, and, saying he had had enough, begged me to leave him.

I went off as fast as I could, and was very glad to see from the look of my sword that his wounds were slight.  I found Boaz still up, and on hearing what had taken place he advised me to go to Amsterdam at once, though I assured him that the wounds were not mortal.  I gave in to his advice, and as my carriage was at the saddler’s he lent me his, and I set out, bidding my servant to come on the next day with my luggage, and to rejoin me at the “Old Bible,” in Amsterdam.  I reached Amsterdam at noon and my man arrived in the evening.

I was curious to hear if my duel had made any noise, but as my servant had left at an early hour he had heard nothing about it.  Fortunately for me nothing whatever was known about it at Amsterdam for a week after; otherwise, things might not have gone well with me, as the reputation of being a duellist is not a recommendation to financiers with whom one is about to transact business of importance.

The reader will not be surprised when I tell him that my first call was on M. d’O, or rather on his charming daughter Esther, for she it was on whom I waited.  It will be remembered that the way in which we parted did a good deal towards augmenting the warmth of my affection for her.  On entering the room I found Esther writing at a table.

“What are you doing Esther, dear?”

“An arithmetical problem.”

“Do you like problems?”

“I am passionately fond of anything which contains difficulties and offers curious results.”

“I will give you something which will please you.”

I made her, by way of jest, two magic squares, which delighted her.  In return, she spewed me some trifles with which I was well acquainted, but which I pretended to think very astonishing.  My good genius then inspired me with the idea of trying divination by the cabala.  I told her to ask a question in writing, and assured her that by a certain kind of calculation a satisfactory answer would be obtained.  She smiled, and asked why I had returned to Amsterdam so soon.  I shewed her how to make the pyramid with the proper numbers and the other ceremonies, then I made her extract the answer in numbers, translating it into French, and greatly was she surprised to find that the cause which had made me return to Amsterdam so soon was—­love.

Quite confounded, she said it was very wonderful, even though the answer might not be true, and she wished to know what masters could teach this mode of calculation.

“Those who know it cannot teach it to anyone.”

“How did you learn it, then?”

“From a precious manuscript I inherited from my father.”

“Sell it me.”

“I have burnt it; and I am not empowered to communicate the secret to anyone before I reach the age of fifty.”