saying that I could not guarantee the sex of the countess's bedfellow, but she answered,"Never mind; if there be a mistake I shall be the gainer."
This struck me as rather free, but I was not the man to be scandalized. I was amused at the tastes of my fair Venetian, and at the manner in which she contrived to gratify them as she had done at Genoa with my last niece. As a rule the Provencal women are inclined this way, and far from reproaching them I like them all the better for it.
The next day I rose at daybreak to hurry on the wheelwright, and when the work was done I asked if the countess were visible. Directly after Marcoline came out with one of the gentlemen, who begged me to excuse the countess, as she could not receive me in her present extremely scanty attire; "but she hopes that whenever you are in these parts you will honour her and her house by your company, whether you are alone or with friends."
This refusal, gilded as it was, was a bitter pill for me to swallow, but I concealed my disgust, as I could only put it down to Marcoline's doings; she seemed in high spirits, and I did not like to mortify her. I thanked the gentleman with effusion, and placing a Louis in the hands of all the servants who were present I took my leave.
I kissed Marcoline affectionately, so that she should not notice my ill humour, and asked how she and the countess spent the night. "Capitally," said she. "The countess is charming, and we amused ourselves all night with the tricks of two amorous women."
"Is she pretty or old?"
"She is only thirty-three, and, I assure you, she is as pretty as my friend Mdlle. Crosin. I can speak with authority for we saw each other in a state of nature."
"You are a singular creature; you were unfaithful to me for a woman, and left me to pass the night by myself."
"You must forgive me, and I had to sleep with her as she was the first to declare her love."
"Really? How was that?"
40
"When I gave her the first of my kisses she returned it in the Florentine manner, and our tongues met. After supper, I confess, I was the first to begin the suggestive caresses, but she met me half-way. I could only make her happy by spending the night with her. Look, this will shew you how pleased she was."
With these words Marcoline drew a superb ring, set with brilliants, from her finger. I was astonished.
"Truly," I said, "this woman is fond of pleasure and deserves to have it."
I gave my Lesbian (who might have vied with Sappho) a hundred kisses, and forgave her her infidelity.
"But," I remarked, "I can't think why she did not want me to see her; I think she has treated me rather cavalierly."
"No, I think the reason was that she was ashamed to be seen by my lover after having made me unfaithful to him; I had to confess that we were lovers."
"Maybe. At all events you have been well paid; that ring is worth two hundred louis:"
"But I may as well tell you that I was well enough paid for the pleasure I gave by the pleasure I received." "That's right; I am delighted to see you happy."
"If you want to make me really happy, take me to England with you. My uncle will be there, and I could go back to Venice with him."
"What! you have an uncle in England? Do you really mean it? It sounds like a fairy-tale. You never told me of it before."
"I have never said anything about it up to now, because I have always imagined that this might prevent your accomplishing your desire."
"Is your uncle a Venetian? What is he doing in England? Are you sure that he will welcome you?" "Yes."
"What is his name? And how are we to find him in a town of more than a million inhabitants?"
"He is ready found. His name is Mattio Boisi, and he is valet de chambre to M. Querini, the Venetian ambassador sent to England to congratulate the new king; he is accompanied by the Procurator Morosini. My uncle is my mother's brother; he is very fond of me, and will forgive my fault, especially when he finds I am rich. When he went to England he said he would be back in Venice in July, and we shall just catch him on the point of departure."
As far as the embassy went I knew it was all true, from the letters I had received from M. de Bragadin, and as for the rest Marcoline seemed to me to be speaking the truth. I was flattered by her proposal and agreed to take her to England so that I should possess her for five or six weeks longer without committing myself to anything.
We reached Avignon at the close of the day, and found ourselves very hungry. I knew that the "St. Omer" was an excellent inn, and when I got there I ordered a choice meal and horses for five o'clock the next morning. Marcoline, who did not like night travelling, was in high glee, and threw her arms around my neck, saying,--
"Are we at Avignon now?" "Yes, dearest."
"Then I conscientiously discharge the trust which the countess placed in me when she embraced me for the last time this morning. She made me swear not to say a word about it till we got to Avignon."
"All this puzzles me, dearest; explain yourself."
41
"She gave me a letter for you." "A letter?"
"Will you forgive me for not placing it in your hands sooner?"
"Certainly, if you passed your word to the countess; but where is this letter?" "Wait a minute."
She drew a large bundle of papers from her pocket, saying,--
"This is my certificate of baptism."
"I see you were born in 1746."
"This is a certificate of 'good conduct.'"
"Keep it, it may be useful to you."
"This is my certificate of virginity."
"That's no use. Did you get it from a midwife?" "No, from the Patriarch of Venice."
"Did he test the matter for himself ?" "No, he was too old; he trusted in me." "Well, well, let me see the letter."
"I hope I haven't lost it." "I hope not, to God."
"Here is your brother's promise of marriage; he wanted to be a Protestant."
"You may throw that into the fire."
"What is a Protestant?"
"I will tell you another time. Give me the letter." "Praised be God, here it is!"
"That's lucky; but it has no address."
My heart beat fast, as I opened it, and found, instead of an address, these words in Italian: "To the most honest man of my acquaintance."
Could this be meant for me? I turned down the leaf, and read one word--Henriette! Nothing else; the rest of the paper was blank. At the sight of that word I was for a moment annihilated.
"Io non mori, e non rimasi vivo."
42
Henriette! It was her style, eloquent in its brevity. I recollected her last letter from Pontarlier, which
