Melladoro, who was only twenty years old, thought he had made a charming conquest.  He asked to be allowed to present his respects occasionally, when Clorinde promptly invited him to do so, in her husband’s name as well as in her own.

It was now morning, and he took leave of the ladies.  Two days after this he reappeared; then he came five or six times a week, until at last it was settled that a place should be laid for him every day at the President’s table.

That year it was M. de Nesmond’s turn to preside at the courts during vacation-time.  He pleaded urgent motives of health, which made it imperative for him to have country air and complete rest.  Another judge consented to forego his vacation and take his place on the bench for four months; so M. de Nesmond was able to leave Paris.

When the time came to set out by coach, madame went off into violent hysterics; but the magistrate, backed up by his father-in-law, showed firmness, and they set out for the Chateau de Nesmond, about thirty leagues from Paris.

M. de Nesmond found the country far from enjoyable.  His wife, who always sat by herself in her dressing-gown and seldom consented to see a soul, on more than one occasion left her guests at table in order to sulk and mope in her closet.

She fell ill.  During her periods of suffering and depression, she continually mentioned the Spaniard’s name.  Failing his person, she desired to have his portrait.  Alarmed at his wife’s condition, the President agreed to write a letter himself to the author of all this trouble, who soon sent the lady a handsome sweetmeat-box ornamented with his crest and his portrait.

At the sight of this, Clorinde became like another woman.  She had her hair dressed and put on a smart gown, to show the portrait how deeply enamoured she was of the original.

“Monsieur,” she said to her husband, “I am the only daughter of a wealthy man, who, when he gave me to a magistrate older than himself, did not intend to sacrifice me.  You have been young, no doubt, and you, therefore, ought to know how revolting to youth, all freshness and perfume, are the cuddlings and caresses of decrepitude.  As yet I do not detest you, but it is absolutely impossible to love you.  On the contrary, I am in love with Melladoro; perhaps in your day you were as attractive as he is, and knew how to make the most of what you then possessed.  Now, will you please me by going back to Paris?  I shall be ever so grateful to you if you will.  Or must you spend the autumn in this gloomy abode of your ancestors?  To show myself obedient, I will consent; only in this case you must send your secretary to the Spanish Legation, and your coach-and-six, to bring Melladoro here without delay.”

At this speech M. de Nesmond could no longer hide his disgust, but frankly refused to entertain such a proposal for one moment.  Whereupon, his wife gave way to violent grief.  She could neither eat nor sleep, and being already in a weakly state, soon developed symptoms which frightened her doctors.