‘Her father neglected her dreadfully, and let her go anywhere alone, which is unheard of amongst young ladies in Paris. It was natural that after a while I should constitute myself her protector. She was only seventeen, and very fragile—almost ethereal in appearance; and when I had known her for about six months, I felt I should like to make her my wife. I forgot my betrothal to my cousin Blanche. All my wishes centred in the hope of marrying Corinne. I broached the subject one day to her father, almost timidly. He was taken aback by my communication. ‘“Marry my daughter!” he exclaimed. “You cannot know what you are asking for.” ‘“I know I am not worthy of her,” I began, but he cut me short. ‘“My dear Baron, such an alliance as you would offer Corinne is beyond all my hopes. But it is impossible.” ‘“Why?” ‘“Because she is doomed. She carries in her the seeds of a disease which must terminate her existence within a few years. She can marry no one.” ‘This intelligence was a great blow to me. I would not believe it—she looked so healthy, though delicate. I urged Monsieur Duplat to permit the marriage to take place, and I believe it would have been accomplished, had a sudden chill not taken the poor child off before another month was over her head.’ ‘She is _dead_!’ I exclaimed, pity taking the place of all other feelings. ‘Oh, how you must have grieved for her!’ ‘Yes, I was very inconsolable for a time, and it was this grief, mademoiselle, that led to all my subsequent misfortunes. Monsieur Duplat was a _littérateur_ whose very uncertain income was dependent on his humour for writing, and unfortunately his humour too often took the direction of drinking instead. In my sorrow for the loss of Corinne, I conceived the romantic idea of being a son to her father, and invited the old man to come and live with me in my hôtel. I had so much money, there was plenty for us both. Why should he not enjoy it also? Amidst all my former dissipations I had never been a gambler, and it was Monsieur Duplat himself who had on our first acquaintanceship introduced me to the gaming-tables of Paris. After he came to live with me, idleness and regret for his daughter’s death seemed to drive him to them oftener than before, and wherever he went I accompanied him. I felt reckless too at that time, and quite indifferent as to my future. I believed, like most young mourners, that I should never be happy again, and it did not signify what became of me. This is how I contracted the spirit of gaming. Two of us were drawing on my (apparently) inexhaustible fortune at the same moment, for you may be sure I paid all Duplat’s debts before my own. My uncle Beaupré was not long in hearing of my lavish expenditure, and remonstrated with me in his daughter’s name. But a devil seemed to have entered into me—and when I found that I had caused a large portion of my fortune to disappear, I attempted to remedy the evil by staking more recklessly than before. At last the