t a
house he had in Treviso, and to partake there of the dinner usually given
the day after the wedding. The uncle alone excused himself, and the
mother could not come, owing to her disease which prevented her from
moving. The good woman died three months after Christine's marriage.

Christine therefore left her village to follow her husband, and for the
remainder of their lives they lived together in mutual happiness.

Count Algarotti, Christine's god-mother and my two noble friends, went
away together. The bride and bridegroom had, of course, a carriage to
themselves, and I kept the aunt and the sister of Charles company in
another. I could not help envying the happy man somewhat, although in my
inmost heart I felt pleased with his happiness.

The sister was not without merit. She was a young widow of twenty-five,
and still deserved the homage of men, but I gave the preference to the
aunt, who told me that her new niece was a treasure, a jewel which was
worthy of everybody's admiration, but that she would not let her go into
society until she could speak the Venetian dialect well.

"Her cheerful spirits," she added, "her artless simplicity, her natural
wit, are like her beauty, they must be dressed in the Venetian fashion.
We are highly pleased with my nephew's choice, and he has incurred
everlasting obligations towards you. I hope that for the future you will
consider our house as your own."

The invitation was polite, perhaps it was sincere, yet I did not avail
myself of it, and they were glad of it. At the end of one year Christine
presented her husband with a living token of their mutual love, and that
circumstance increased their conjugal felicity.

We all found comfortable quarters in the count's house in Treviso, where,
after partaking of some refreshments, the guests retired to rest.

The next morning I was with Count Algarotti and my two friends when
Charles came in, handsome, bright, and radiant. While he was answering
with much wit some jokes of the count, I kept looking at him with some
anxiety, but he came up to me and embraced me warmly. I confess that a
kiss never made me happier.

People wonder at the devout scoundrels who call upon their saint when
they think themselves in need of heavenly assistance, or who thank him
when they imagine that they have obtained some favour from him, but
people are wrong, for it is a good and right feeling, which preaches
against Atheism.

At the invitation of