one with Armelline I took her hands and covered them
with kisses, begging her to resume her wonted gaiety.

"What shall I do," said she, "without Emilie? What shall I do when you
are gone? I am unhappy. I love myself no longer."

She shed tears which pierced me to the heart. I swore I would not leave
Rome till I had seen her married with a dowry of a thousand crowns.

"I don't want a thousand crowns, but I hope you will see me married as
you say; if you do not keep your promise it will kill me."

"I would die rather than deceive you; but you on your side must forgive
my love, which, perhaps, made me go too far the other evening."

"I forgive you everything if you will remain my friend."

"I will; and now let me kiss your beautiful lips."

After this first kiss, which I took as a pledge of certain victory, she
wiped away her tears; and soon after Emilie reappeared, accompanied by
the superioress, who treated me with great cordiality.

"I want you to do as much for Armelline's new friend as you have done for
Emilie," said she.

"I will do everything in my power," I replied; "and in return I hope you
will allow me to take these young ladies to the theatre this evening."

"You will find them ready; how could I refuse you anything?"

When I was alone with the two friends I apologised for having disposed of
them without their consent.

"Our consent!" said Emilie: "we should be ungrateful indeed if we refused
you anything after all you have done for us."

"And you, Armelline, will you withstand my love?"

"No; so long as it keeps within due bounds. No more blind man's buff!"

"And it is such a nice game! You really grieve me."

"Well, invent another game," said Emilie.

Emilie was becoming ardent, somewhat to my annoyance, for I was afraid
Armelline would get jealous. I must not be charged with foppishness on
this account. I knew the human heart.

When I left them I went to the Tordinona Theatre and took a box, and then
ordered a good supper at the same inn, not forgetting the oysters, though
I felt sure I should not require their aid.

I then called on a musician, whom I requested to get me three tickets for
a ball, where no one would be likely to know me.

I went home with the idea of dining by myself, but I found a note from
the Marchioness d'Aout, reproaching me in a friendly manner for not
having broken bread with her, and inviting me to dinner. I resolved to
accept the invitation, and when I got to