lf on her. Honour will not allow me to tell you any more, and indeed
it would be impossible for you or any one else to alleviate the grief
that overwhelms me. It may possibly be my death, but in the mean time, my
dear Dubois, I entreat you to continue your friendship towards me, and to
treat me with entire candour. I shall always attend to what you say, and
thus you will be of the greatest service to me. I shall not be
ungrateful."

I spent a weary night as I had expected, for anger, the mother of
vengeance, always made me sleepless, while sudden happiness had sometimes
the same effect.

I rang for Le Duc early in the morning, but, instead of him, Madame
Dubois's ugly little attendant came, and told me that my man was ill, and
that the housekeeper would bring me my chocolate. She came in directly
after, and I had no sooner swallowed the chocolate than I was seized with
a violent attack of sickness, the effect of anger, which at its height
may kill the man who cannot satisfy it. My concentrated rage called for
vengeance on the dreadful widow, the chocolate came on the top of the
anger, and if it had not been rejected I should have been killed; as it
was I was quite exhausted. Looking at my housekeeper I saw she was in
tears, and asked her why she wept.

"Good heavens! Do you think I have a heart of stone?"

"Calm yourself; I see you pity me. Leave me, and I hope I shall be able
to get some sleep."

I went to sleep soon after, and I did not wake till I had slept for seven
hours. I felt restored to life. I rang the bell, my housekeeper came in,
and told me the surgeon of the place had called. She looked very
melancholy, but on seeing my more cheerful aspect I saw gladness
reappearing on her pretty face.

"We will dine together, dearest," said I, "but tell the surgeon to come
in. I want to know what he has to say to me."

The worthy man entered, and after looking carefully round the room to see
that we were alone, he came up to me, and whispered in my ear that Le Duc
had a malady of a shameful character.

I burst out laughing, as I had been expecting some terrible news.

"My dear doctor," said I, "do all you can to cure him, and I will pay you
handsomely, but next time don't look so doleful when you have anything to
tell me. How old are you?"

"Nearly eighty."

"May God help you!"

I was all the more ready to sympathize with my poor Spaniard, as I
expected to find myself in a like case.

What a fellow-feeli