‘Monsieur,’ I commenced again, pleadingly, ‘give it up on your own account also. It has already caused the misfortune of your life, and the continuance of it must be putting the day of your deliverance further and further off.’ ‘It is,’ he muttered in a low voice. ‘Oh! monsieur! you have suffered very much! I know you have! Don’t drive away the bright hope that is in the future for you—the double hope of being able to move in your own sphere in the position your ancestors assigned you, and of making a little heaven for yourself at home. Do give up gambling, for the sake of your friends if not for yourself: for the sake of those whom you lead into wrong with you, and for the sake of the future.’ To my intense surprise, the Baron leapt to his feet and seized my hand. ‘I _will_!—I _will_!’ he exclaimed fervently. ‘As there is a God in heaven, mademoiselle, I swear to you I will never touch a card from this day again. You are right! you are _quite_ right! Every word you have uttered sounded on my heart like an inspiration. I have been miserable for months past. Each day I have gone deeper and deeper into debt, and put, as you say, the day of my liberty further away from me. It may be years before I am free, but I will never touch a card again so long as I live.’ ‘Oh! I am so glad! I _am_ so glad!’ I cried, excited beyond measure at the unexpected success of my undertaking; ‘and you will never regret it, monsieur! I am sure you will not! And Mr. Thrale, too! You will speak to him and point out the folly of his losing his money for a mere game, and give him all the good advice in your power.’ ‘Monsieur Lovett will be very much surprised at my determination,’ said the Baron, suddenly struck with the difficulties that stood in the way of reformation. ‘Tell him the truth! It is the best and most honourable course to pursue, and surely he can never so far deny his profession as to blame you for giving up what your conscience warns you against. And devote yourself to your hunting and shooting and reading, monsieur, until that happy time comes when you can go back to Paris and hold your own again. Perhaps you may marry Mademoiselle de Beaupré after all—who knows?’ ‘Never, mademoiselle! Neither she, nor any other Paris belle. Doubtless, when I am once more in the enjoyment of my fortune, many women—such women as I spoke of to you—will be ready to spend it for me, but it will be in vain. You have opened my eyes this evening to the fact that there are other women in this world—disinterested, whole-hearted and true—and if I can find such an one willing to share my poverty, I will work day and night till I place her in the position my wife should hold: if not—why I will do without a Baronne de Nesselrode at all.’ ‘Oh! you will find her, monsieur! never fear, if you will only keep a sharp look out,’ I answered, laughing.