Although I had my ticket in my pocket I could not refuse so honourable an offer, so, giving her my arm, we walked up to two of the best places in the house.

At Paris no talking is allowed during the performance of sacred music, especially when the piece is heard for the first time; so Madame du Remain could draw no conclusions from my silence throughout the performance, but she guessed that something was the matter from the troubled and absent expression of my face, which was by no means natural to me.

“M.  Casanova,” said she, “be good enough to give me your company for an hour.  I want to ask you-two or three questions which can only be solved by your cabala.  I hope you will oblige me, as I am, very anxious to know the answers, but we must be quick as I have an engagement to sup in Paris.”

It may be imagined that I did not wait to be asked twice, and as soon as we got to her house I went to work on the questions, and solved them all in less than half an hour.

When I had finished, “M.  Casanova;” said she, in the kindest manner possible, “what is the matter with you?  You are not in your usual state of equanimity, and if I am not mistaken you are dreading some dire event.  Or perhaps you are on the eve of taking some important resolution?  I am not inquisitive, but if I can be of any service to you at Court, make use of me, and be sure that I will do my best.  If necessary, I will go to Versailles to-morrow morning.  I know all the ministers.  Confide in me your troubles, if I cannot lighten them I can at least share them, and be sure I will keep your counsel.”

Her words seemed to me a voice from heaven, a warning from my good genius to open my heart to this lady, who had almost read my thoughts, and had so plainly expressed her interest in my welfare.

After gazing at her for some seconds without speaking, but with a manner that shewed her how grateful I was, “Yes madam,” I said, “I am indeed critically situated, may be on the serge of ruin, but your kindness has calmed my soul and made me once more acquainted with hope.  You shall hear how I am placed.  I am going to trust you with a secret of the most delicate description, but I can rely on your being as discreet as you are good.  And if after hearing my story you deign to give me your advice, I promise to follow it and never to divulge its author.”

After this beginning, which gained her close attention, I told her all the circumstances of the case, neither concealing the young lady’s name nor any of the circumstances which made it my duty to watch over her welfare.  All the same I said nothing about the aroph or the share I had taken in its exhibition.  The incident appeared to me too farcical for a serious drama, but I confessed that I had procured the girl drugs in the hope of relieving her of her burden.

After this weighty communication I stopped, and Madame du Rumain remained silent, as if lost in thought, for nearly a quarter of an hour.  At last she rose, saying,