The Charpillon--Dreadful Consequences of My Acquaintance With Her
The name Charpillon reminded me that I was the bearer of a letter for
her, and drawing it from my pocket-book I gave it her, saying that the
document ought to cement our acquaintance.
"What!" she exclaimed, "a letter from the dear ambassador Morosini. How
delighted I am to have it! And you have actually been all these months in
London without giving it me?"
"I confess I am to blame, but, as you see, the note has no address on it.
I am grateful for the chance which has enabled me to discharge my
commission to-day."
"Come and dine with us to-morrow."
"I cannot do so, as I am expecting Lord Pembroke to dinner."
"Will you be alone?"
"I expect so."
"I am glad to hear it; you will see my aunt and myself appearing on the
scene."
"Here is my address; and I shall be delighted if you will come and see
me."
She took the address, and I was surprised to see her smile as she read
it.
"Then you are the Italian," she said, "who put up that notice that amused
all the town?"
"I am."
"They say the joke cost you dear."
"Quite the reverse; it resulted in the greatest happiness."
"But now that the beloved object has left you, I suppose you are
unhappy?"
"I am; but there are sorrows so sweet that they are almost joys."
"Nobody knows who she was, but I suppose you do?"
"Yes."
"Do you make a mystery of it?"
"Surely, and I would rather die than reveal it."
"Ask my aunt if I may take some rooms in your house; but I am afraid my
mother would not let me."
"Why do you want to lodge cheaply?"
"I don't want to lodge cheaply, but I should like to punish the audacious
author of that notice."
"How would you punish me?"
"By making you fall in love with me, and then tormenting you. It would
have amused me immensely."
"Then you think that you can inspire me with love, and at the same time
form the dreadful plan of tyrannising over the victim of your charms.
Such a project is monstrous, and unhappily for us poor men, you do not
look a monster. Nevertheless, I am obliged to you for your frankness, and
I shall be on my guard."
"Then you must take care never to see me, or else all your efforts will
be in vain."
As the Charpillon had laughed merrily through the whole of this dialogue,
I took it all as a jest, but I could not help admiring her manner, which
seemed made for the subjugation of men. But though I knew it not, the day
I made that woman's acquaintance was a luckless one for me, as my readers
will see.
It was towards the end of the month of September, 1763, when I met the
Charpillon, and from that day I began to die. If the lines of ascent and
declination are equal, now, on the first day of November, 1797, I have
about four more years of life to reckon on, which will pass by swiftly,
according to the axiom 'Motus in fine velocior'.
The Charpillon, who was well known in London, and I believe is still
alive, was one of those beauties in whom it is difficult to find any
positive fault. Her hair was chestnut coloured, and astonishingly long
and thick, her blue eyes were at once languorous and brilliant, her skin,
faintly tinged with a rosy hue, was of a dazzling whiteness; she was tall
for her age, and seemed likely to become as tall as Pauline. Her breast
was perhaps a little small, but perfectly shaped, her hands were white
and plump, her feet small, and her gait had something noble and gracious.
Her features were of that exquisite sensibility which gives so much charm
to the fair sex, but nature had given her a beautiful body and a deformed
soul. This siren had formed a design to wreck my happiness even before
she knew me, and as if to add to her triumph she told me as much.
I left Malingan's house not like a man who, fond of the fair sex, is glad
to have made the acquaintance of a beautiful woman, but in a state of
stupefaction that the image of Pauline, which was always before me, was
not strong enough to overcome the influence of a creature like the
Charpillon, whom in my heart I could not help despising.
I calmed myself by saying that this strong impression was due to novelty,
and by hoping that I should soon be disenchanted.
"She will have no charm," said I, "when I have once possessed her, and
that will not be long in coming." Perhaps the reader will think that I
was too presumptuous, but why should I suppose that there would be any
difficulty? She had asked me to dinner herself, she had surrendered
herself entirely to Morosini, who was not the man to sigh for long at any
woman's feet, and must have paid her, for he was not young enough nor
handsome enough to inspire her with a fancy for him. Without counting my
physical attractions, I had plenty of money, and I was not afraid of
spending it; and so I thought I could count on an easy victory.
Pembroke had become an intimate friend of mine since my proceedings with
regard to Schwerin. He admired my conduct in not making any claim on the
general for half my loss. He had said we would make a pleasant day of it
together, and when he saw that my table was laid for four he asked who
the other guests were to be. He was extremely surprised when he heard
that they were the Charpillon and her aunt, and that the girl had invited
herself when she heard he was to dine with me.
"I once took a violent fancy for the little hussy," said he. "It was one
evening when I was at Vauxhall, and I offered her twenty guineas if she
would come and take a little walk with me in a dark alley. She said she
would come if I gave her the money in advance, which I was fool enough to
do. She went with me, but as soon as we were alone she ran away, and I
could not catch her again, though I looked for her all the evening."
"You ought to have boxed her ears before everybody."
"I should have got into trouble, and people would have laughed at me
besides. I preferred to despise her and the money too. Are you in love
with her?"
"No; but I am curious, as you were."
"Take care! she will do all in her power to entrap you."
She came in and went up to my lord with the most perfect coolness, and
began to chatter away to him without taking any notice of me. She
laughed, joked, and reproached him for not having pursued her at
Vauxhall. Her stratagem, she said, was only meant to excite him the more.
"Another time," she added, "I shall not escape you."
"Perhaps not, my dear, for another time I shall take care not to pay in
advance."
"Oh, fie! you degrade yourself by talking about paying."
"I suppose I honour you."
"We never talk of such things."
Lord Pembroke laughed at her impertinences, while she made a vigorous
assault on him, for his coolness and indifference piqued her.
She left us soon after dinner, making me promise to dine with her the day
after next.
I passed the next day with the amiable nobleman who initiated me into the
mysteries of the English bagnio, an entertainment which I shall not
describe, for it is well known to all who care to spend six guineas.
On the day appointed, my evil destiny made me go to the Charpillon's; the
girl introduced me to her mother, whom I at once recollected, although
she had aged and altered since I had seen her.
In the year 1759 a Genevan named Bolome had persuaded me to sell her
jewels to the extent of six thousand francs, and she had paid me in bills
drawn by her and her two sisters on this Bolome, but they were then known
as Anspergher. The Genevan became bankrupt before the bills were due, and
the three sisters disappeared. As may be imagined, I was surprised to
find them in England, and especially to be introduced to them by the
Charpillon, who, knowing nothing of the affair of the jewels, had not
told them that Seingalt was the same as Casanova, whom they had cheated
of six thousand francs.
"I am delighted to see you again," were the first words I addressed to
her.
"I recollect you, sir; that rascal Bolome . . . ."
"We will discuss that subject another time. I see you are ill."
"I have been at death's door, but I am better now. My daughter did not
tell me your proper name."
"Yes, she did. My name is Seingalt as well as Casanova. I was known by
the latter name at Paris when I made your daughter's acquaintance, though
I did not know then that she was your daughter."
Just then the grandmother, whose name was also Anspergher, came in with
the two aunts, and a quarter of an hour later three men arrived, one of
whom was the Chevalier Goudar, whom I had met at Paris. I did not know
the others who were introduced to me under the names of Rostaing and
Caumon. They were three friends of the household, whose business it was
to bring in dupes.
Such was the infamous company in which I found myself, and though I took
its measure directly, yet I did not make my escape, nor did I resolve
never to go to the house again. I was fascinated; I thought I would be on
my guard and be safe, and as I only wanted the daughter I looked on all
else as of little moment.
At table I led the conversation, and thought that my prey would soon be
within my grasp. The only thing which annoyed me was that the Charpillon,
after apologizing for having made me sit down to such a poor dinner,
invited herself and all the company to sup with me on any day I liked to
mention. I could make no opposition, so I begged her to name the day
herself, and she did so, after a consultation with her worthy friends.
After coffee had been served we played four rubbers of whist, at which I
lost, and at midnight I went away ill pleased with myself, but with no
purpose of amendment, for this sorceress had got me in her toils.
All the same I had the strength of mind to refrain from seeing her for
two days, and on the third, which was the day appointed for the cursed
supper, she and her aunt paid me a call at nine o'clock in the morning.
"I have come to breakfast with you, and to discuss a certain question,"
said she, in the most engaging manner.
"Will you tell me your business now, or after breakfast?"
"After breakfast; for we must be alone."
We had our breakfast, and then the aunt went into another room, and the
Charpillon, after describing the monetary situation of the family, told
me that it would be much relieved if her aunt could obtain a hundred
guineas.
"What would she do with the money?"
"She would make the Balm of Life, of which she possesses the secret, and
no doubt she would make her fortune, too."
She then began to dilate on the marvellous properties of the balm, on its
probable success in a town like London, and on the benefits which would
accrue to myself, for of course I should share in the profits. She added
that her mother and aunt would give me a written promise to repay the
money in the course of six years.
"I will give you a decided answer after supper."
I then began to caress her, and to make assaults in the style of an
amorous man, but it was all in vain, though I succeeded in stretching her
on a large sofa. She made her escape, however, and ran to her aunt, while
I followed her, feeling obliged to laugh as she did. She gave me her
hand, and said,--
"Farewell, till this evening."
When they were gone, I reflected over what had passed and thought this
first scene of no bad augury. I saw that I should get nothing out of her
without spending a hundred guineas, and I determined not to attempt to
bargain, but I would let her understand that she must make up her mind
not to play prude. The game was in my hands, and all I had to do was to
take care not to be duped.
In the evening the company arrived, and the girl asked me to hold a bank
till supper was ready; but I declined, with a burst of laughter that
seemed to puzzle her.
"At least, let us have a game of whist," said she.
"It seems to me," I answered, "that you don't feel very anxious to hear
my reply."
"You have made up your mind, I suppose?"
"I have, follow me."
She followed me into an adjoining room, and after she had seated herself
on a sofa, I told her that the hundred guineas were at her disposal.
"Then please to give the money to my aunt, otherwise these gentlemen
might think I got it from you by some improper means."
"I will do so."
I tried to get possession of her, but in vain; and I ceased my endeavours
when she said,--
"You will get nothing from me either by money or violence; but you can
hope for all when I find you really nice and quiet."
I re-entered the drawing-room, and feeling my blood boiling I began to
play to quiet myself. She was as gay as ever, but her gaiety tired me. At
supper I had her on my right hand, but the hundred impertinences which,
under other circumstances, would have amused me, only wearied me, after
the two rebuffs I had received from her.
After supper, just as they were going, she took me aside, and told me
that if I wanted to hand over the hundred guineas she would tell her aunt
to go with me into the next room.
"As documents have to be executed," I replied, "it will take some time;
we will talk of it again.
"Won't you fix the time?"
I drew out my purse full of gold, and shewed it her, saying,--
"The time depends entirely on you."
When my hateful guests were gone, I began to reflect, and came to the
conclusion that this young adventuress had determined to plunder me
without giving me anything in return. I determined to have nothing more
to do with her, but I could not get her beauty out of my mind.
I felt I wanted some distraction, something that would give me new aims
and make me forget her. With this idea I went to see my daughter, taking
with me an immense bag of sweets.
As soon as I was in the midst of the little flock, the delight became
general, Sophie distributing the sweetmeats to her friends, who received
them gratefully.
I spent a happy day, and for a week or two I paid several visits to
Harwich. The mistress treated me with the utmost politeness and my
daughter with boundless affection, always calling me "dear papa."
In less than three weeks I congratulated myself on having forgotten the
Charpillon, and on having replaced her by innocent amours, though one of
my daughter's schoolmates pleased me rather too much for my peace of
mind.
Such was my condition when one morning the favourite aunt of the
Charpillon paid me a call, and said that they were all mystified at not
having seen me since the supper I had given them, especially herself, as
her niece had given her to understand that I would furnish her with the
means of making the Balm of Life.
"Certainly; I would have given you the hundred guineas if your niece had
treated me as a friend, but she refused me favours a vestal might have
granted, and you must be aware that she is by no means a vestal."
"Don't mind my laughing. My niece is an innocent, giddy girl; she loves
you, but she is afraid you have only a passing whim for her. She is in
bed now with a bad cold, and if you will come and see her I am sure you
will be satisfied."
These artful remarks, which had no doubt been prepared in advance, ought
to have aroused all my scorn, but instead of that they awakened the most
violent desires. I laughed in chorus with the old woman, and asked what
would be the best time to call.
"Come now, and give one knock."
"Very good, then you may expect me shortly."
I congratulated myself on being on the verge of success, for after the
explanation I had had with the aunt, and having, as I thought, a friend
in her, I did not doubt that I should succeed.
I put on my great coat, and in less than a quarter of an hour I knocked
at their door. The aunt opened to me, and said,--
"Come back in a quarter of an hour; she has been ordered a bath, and is
just going to take it."
"This is another imposture. You're as bad a liar as she is."
"You are cruel and unjust, and if you will promise to be discreet, I will
take you up to the third floor where she is bathing."
"Very good; take me." She went upstairs, I following on tiptoe, and
pushed me into a room, and shut the door upon me. The Charpillon was in a
huge bath, with her head towards the door, and the infernal coquette,
pretending to think it was her aunt, did not move, and said,--
"Give me the towels, aunt."
She was in the most seductive posture, and I had the pleasure of gazing
on her exquisite proportions, hardly veiled by the water.
When she caught sight of me, or rather pretended to do so, she gave a
shriek, huddled her limbs together, and said, with affected anger,--
"Begone!"
"You needn't exert your voice, for I am not going to be duped."
"Begone!"
"Not so, give me a little time to collect myself."
"I tell you, go!"
"Calm yourself, and don't be afraid of my skewing you any violence; that
would suit your game too well."
"My aunt shall pay dearly for this."
"She will find me her friend. I won't touch you, so shew me a little more
of your charms."
"More of my charms?"
"Yes; put yourself as you were when I came in."
"Certainly not. Leave the room."
"I have told you I am not going, and that you need not fear for your
. . . . well, for your virginity, we will say."
She then shewed me a picture more seductive than the first, and
pretending kindliness, said,--
"Please, leave me; I will not fail to shew my gratitude."
Seeing that she got nothing, that I refrained from touching her, and that
the fire she had kindled was in a fair way to be put out, she turned her
back to me to give me to understand that it was no pleasure to her to
look at me. However, my passions were running high, and I had to have
recourse to self-abuse to calm my senses, and was glad to find myself
relieved, as this proved to me that the desire went no deeper than the
senses.
The aunt came in just as I had finished, and I went out without a word,
well pleased to find myself despising a character wherein profit and loss
usurped the place of feeling.
The aunt came to me as I was going out of the house, and after enquiring
if I were satisfied begged me to come into the parlour.
"Yes," said I, "I am perfectly satisfied to know you and your niece. Here
is the reward."
With these words I drew a bank-note for a hundred pounds from my
pocket-book, and was foolish enough to give it her, telling her that she
could make her balm, and need not trouble to give me any document as I
knew if would be of no value. I had not the strength to go away without
giving her anything, and the procuress was sharp enough to know it.
When I got home I reflected on what had happened, and pronounced myself
the conqueror with great triumph. I felt well at ease, and felt sure that
I should never set foot in that house again. There were seven of them
altogether, including servants, and the need of subsisting made them do
anything for a living; and when they found themselves obliged to make use
of men, they summoned the three rascals I have named, who were equally
dependent on them.
Five or six days afterwards, I met the little hussy at Vauxhall in
company with Goudar. I avoided her at first, but she came up to me
reproaching me for my rudeness. I replied coolly enough, but affecting
not to notice my manner, she asked me to come into an arbour with her and
take a cup of tea.
"No, thank you," I replied, "I prefer supper."
"Then I will take some too, and you will give it me, won't you, just to
shew that you bear no malice?"
I ordered supper for four and we sat down together as if we had been
intimate friends.
Her charming conversation combined with her beauty gradually drew me
under her charm, and as the drink began to exercise its influence over
me, I proposed a turn in one of the dark walks, expressing a hope that I
should fare better than Lord Pembroke. She said gently, and with an
appearance of sincerity that deceived me, that she wanted to be mine, but
by day and on the condition that I would come and see her every day.
"I will do so, but first give me one little proof of your love."
"Most certainly not."
I got up to pay the bill, and then I left without a word, refusing to
take her home. I went home by myself and went to bed.
The first thought when I awoke was that I was glad she had not taken me
at my word; I felt very strongly that it was to my interest to break off
all connection between that creature and myself. I felt the strength of
her influence over me, and that my only way was to keep away from her, or
to renounce all pretension to the possession of her charms.
The latter plan seemed to me impossible, so I determined to adhere to the
first; but the wretched woman had resolved to defeat all my plans. The
manner in which she succeeded must have been the result of a council of
the whole society.
A few days after the Vauxhall supper Goudar called on me, and began by
congratulating me on my resolution not to visit the Ansperghers any more,
"for," said he, "the girl would have made you more and more in love with
her, and in the end she would have seduced you to beggary."
"You must think me a great fool. If I had found her kind I should have
been grateful, but without squandering all my money; and if she had been
cruel, instead of ridiculous, I might have given her what I have already
given her every day, without reducing myself to beggary."
"I congratulate you; it shews that you are well off. But have you made up
your mind not to see her again?"
"Certainly."
"Then you are not in love with her?"
"I have been in love, but I am so no longer; and in a few days she will
have passed completely out of my memory. I had almost forgotten her when
I met her with you at Vauxhall."
"You are not cured. The way to be cured of an amour does not lie in
flight, when the two parties live in the same town. Meetings will happen,
and all the trouble has to be taken over again."
"Then do you know a better way?"
"Certainly; you should satiate yourself. It is quite possible that the
creature is not in love with you, but you are rich and she has nothing.
You might have had her for so much, and you could have left her when you
found her to be unworthy of your constancy. You must know what kind of a
woman she is."
"I should have tried this method gladly, but I found her out."
"You could have got the best of her, though, if you had gone to work in
the proper way. You should never have paid in advance. I know
everything."
"What do you mean?"
"I know she has cost you a hundred guineas, and that you have not won so
much as a kiss from her. Why, my dear sir, you might have had her
comfortably in your own bed for as much! She boasts that she took you in,
though you pride yourself on your craft."
"It was an act of charity towards her aunt."
"Yes, to make her Balm of Life; but you know if it had not been for the
niece the aunt would never have had the money."
"Perhaps not, but how come you who are of their party to be talking to me
in this fashion?"
"I swear to you I only speak out of friendship for you, and I will tell
you how I came to make the acquaintance of the girl, her mother, her
grandmother and her two aunts, and then you will no longer consider me as
of their party.
"Sixteen months ago I saw M. Morosini walking about Vauxhall by himself.
He had just come to England to congratulate the king on his accession to
the throne, on behalf of the Republic of Venice. I saw how enchanted he
was with the London beauties, and I went up to him and told him that all
these beauties were at his service. This made him laugh, and on my
repeating that it was not a jest he pointed out one of the girls, and
asked if she would be at his service. I did not know her, so I asked him
to wait awhile, and I would bring him the information he required. There
was no time to be lost, and I could see that the girl was not a vestal
virgin, so I went up to her and told her that the Venetian ambassador was
amorous of her, and that I would take her to him if she would receive his
visits. The aunt said that a nobleman of such an exalted rank could only
bring honour to her niece. I took their address, and on my way back to
the ambassador I met a friend of mine who is learned in such commodities,
and after I had shewed him the address he told me it was the Charpillon."
"And it was she?"
"It was. My friend told me she was a young Swiss girl who was not yet in
the general market, but who would soon be there, as she was not rich, and
had a numerous train to support.
"I rejoined the Venetian, and told him that his business was done, and
asked him at what time I should introduce him the next day, warning him
that as she had a mother and aunts she would not be alone.
"'I am glad to hear it,' said he, 'and also that she is not a common
woman.' He gave me an appointment for the next day, and we parted.
"I told the ladies at what hour I should have the pleasure of introducing
the great man to them, and after warning them that they must appear not
to know him I went home.
"The following day I called on M. de Morosini, and took him to Denmark
Street incognito. We spent an hour in conversation, and then went away
without anything being settled. On the way back the ambassador told me
that he should like to have the girl on conditions which he would give me
in writing at his residence.
"These conditions were that she should live in a furnished house free of
rent, without any companion, and without receiving any visitors. His
excellency would give her fifty guineas a month, and pay for supper
whenever he came and spent the night with her. He told me to get the
house if his conditions were received. The mother was to sign the
agreement.
"The ambassador was in a hurry, and in three days the agreement was
signed; but I obtained a document from the mother promising to let me
have the girl for one night as soon as the Venetian had gone; it was
known he was only stopping in London for a year."
Goudar extracted the document in question from his pocket, and gave it to
me. I read it and re-read it with as much surprise as pleasure, and he
then proceeded with his story.
"When the ambassador had gone, the Charpillon, finding herself at liberty
once more, had Lord Baltimore, Lord Grosvenor, and M. de Saa, the
Portuguese ambassador, in turn, but no titular lover. I insisted on
having my night with her according to agreement, but both mother and
daughter laughed at me when I spoke of it. I cannot arrest her, because
she is a minor, but I will have the mother imprisoned on the first
opportunity, and you will see how the town will laugh. Now you know why I
go to their house; and I assure you you are wrong if you think I have any
part in their councils. Nevertheless, I know they are discussing how they
may catch you, and they will do so if you do not take care."
"Tell the mother that I have another hundred guineas at her service if
she will let me have her daughter for a single night."
"Do you mean that?"
"Assuredly, but I am not going to pay in advance."
"That's the only way not to be duped. I shall be glad to execute your
commission."
I kept the rogue to dinner, thinking he might be useful to me. He knew
everything and everybody, and told me a number of amusing anecdotes.
Although a good-for-nothing fellow, he had his merits. He had written
several works, which, though badly constructed, shewed he was a man of
some wit. He was then writing his "Chinese Spy," and every day he wrote
five or six news-letters from the various coffee-houses he frequented. I
wrote one or two letters for him, with which he was much pleased. The
reader will see how I met him again at Naples some years later.
The next morning, what was my surprise to see the Charpillon, who said
with an air that I should have taken for modesty in any other woman,--
"I don't want you to give me any breakfast, I want an explanation, and to
introduce Miss Lorenzi to you."
I bowed to her and to her companion, and then said,--
"What explanation do you require?"
At this, Miss Lorenzi, whom I had never seen before, thought proper to
leave us, and I told my man that I was not at home to anybody. I ordered
breakfast to be served to the companion of the nymph, that she might not
find the waiting tedious.
"Sir," said the Charpillon, "is it a fact that you charged the Chevalier
Goudar to tell my mother that you would give a hundred guineas to spend
the night with me?"
"No, not to spend a night with you, but after I had passed it. Isn't the
price enough?"
"No jesting, sir, if you please. There is no question of bargaining; all
I want to know is whether you think you have a right to insult me, and
that I am going to bear it?"
"If you think yourself insulted, I may, perhaps, confess I was wrong; but
I confess I did not think I should have to listen to any reproaches from
you. Gondar is one of your intimate friends, and this is not the first
proposal he has taken to you. I could not address you directly, as I know
your arts only too well."
"I shall not pay any attention to your abuse of my self; I will only
remind you of what I said 'that neither money nor violence were of any
use,' and that your only way was to make me in love with you by gentle
means. Shew me where I have broken my word! It is you that have foresworn
yourself in coming into my bath-room, and in sending such a brutal
message to my mother. No one but a rascal like Goudar would have dared to
take such a message."
"Goudar a rascal, is he? Well, he is your best friend. You know he is in
love with you, and that he only got you for the ambassador in the hope of
enjoying you himself. The document in his possession proves that you have
behaved badly towards him. You are in his debt, discharge it, and then
call him a rascal if you have the conscience to do so. You need not
trouble to weep, for I knew the source of those tears; it is defiled."
"You know nothing of it. I love you, and it is hard to have you treat me
so."
"You love me? You have not taken the best way to prove it!"
"As good a way as yours. You have behaved to me as if I were the vilest
of prostitutes, and yesterday you seemed to think I was a brute beast,
the slave of my mother. You should have written to me in person, and
without the intervention of so vile an agent; I should have replied in
the same way, and you need not have been afraid that you would be
deceived."
"Supposing I had written, what would your answer have been?"
"I should have put all money matters out of question. I should have
promised to content you on the condition that you would come and court me
for a fortnight without demanding the slightest favour. We should have
lived a pleasant life; we should have gone to the theatre and to the
parks. I should have become madly in love with you. Then I should have
given myself up to you for love, and nothing but love. I am ashamed to
say that hitherto I have only given myself out of mere complaisance.
Unhappy woman that I am! but I think nature meant me to love, and I
thought when I saw you that my happy star had sent you to England that I
might know the bliss of true affection. Instead of this you have only
made me unhappy. You are the first man that has seen me weep; you have
troubled my peace at home, for my mother shall never have the sum you
promised her were it for nothing but a kiss."
"I am sorry to have injured you, though I did not intend to do so; but I
really don't know what I can do."
"Come and see us, and keep your money, which I despise. If you love me,
come and conquer me like a reasonable and not a brutal lover; and I will
help you, for now you cannot doubt that I love you."
All this seemed so natural to me that I never dreamed it contained a
trap. I was caught, and I promised to do what she wished, but only for a
fortnight. She confirmed her promise, and her countenance became once
more serene and calm. The Charpillon was a born actress.
She got up to go, and on my begging a kiss as a pledge of our
reconciliation she replied, with a smile, the charm of which she well
knew, that it would not do to begin by breaking the term of our
agreement, and she left me more in love than ever, and full of repentance
for my conduct.