here without the necessity of my working; however I shall
not have to face the alternative, for at the first hint of the matter M.
de Chavigni gave his consent with the best grace imaginable."

He went on begging her not to keep him long waiting for a reply, and to
tell him in the first place if she consented; in the second, whether she
would like to live at Berne and be mistress in her own house, or whether
she would prefer to return to Soleure and live with the ambassador, which
latter plan might bring them some profit. He ended by declaring that
whatever she had would be for her sole use, and that he would give her a
dower of a hundred thousand francs. He did not say a word about me.

"Dearest," said I, "you are at perfect liberty to choose your own course,
but I cannot contemplate your leaving me without considering myself as
the most unhappy of men."

"And if I lose you I should be the most unhappy of women; for if you love
me I care not whether we are married or no."

"Very good; but what answer are you going to make."

"You shall see my letter to-morrow. I shall tell him politely but plainly
that I love you, that I am yours, that I am happy, and that it is thus
impossible for me to accept his flattering propositions. I shall also say
that I appreciate his generosity, and that if I were wise I should accept
him, but that being the slave of my love for you I can only follow my
inclination."

"I think you give an excellent turn to your letter. In refusing such an
offer you could not have better reasons than those you give, and it would
be absurd to try and persuade him that we are not lovers, as the thing is
self-evident. Nevertheless, my darling, the letter saddens me."

"Why, dearest?"

"Because I have not a hundred thousand francs to offer you."

"I despise them; and if you were to offer me such a sum, I should only
accept it to lay it at your feet. You are certainly not destined to
become miserable, but if that should come to pass, be sure that I should
be only too happy to share your misery."

We fell into one another's arms, and love made us taste all its
pleasures. Nevertheless, in the midst of bliss, some tinge of sadness
gained upon our souls. Languishing love seems to redouble its strength,
but it is only in appearance; sadness exhausts love more than enjoyment.
Love is a madcap who must be fed on laughter and mirth, otherwise he dies
of inanition.

Next day my sweetheart wrote to Lebel in the