Six years had passed since then, and I had become so attached to the seductive capital that I spent only six weeks, in the summer, with my sister. I had not yet been to her that year, and I assumed that that was why she was writing to me. That dear sister of mine, knowing that I was not over-virtuous, was exceedingly anxious that I should marry, in the hope that that would put an end to my follies; and every summer I found at her house a new young woman, very pretty and sweet and well bred, possessed of abundant talents and attractions and a very respectable dowry. She was presented to me without affectation, but I knew what was in the air. But, despite the attentions of her parents, the eloquent sermons from my sister on the joys of wedded life, and the sighs and sidelong glances of the young lady herself, I took my leave at the end of six weeks without making a declaration. "Patience!" my sister would say to her husband; "next year, I'll find one who will turn his head, I'll wager." "So be it!" Déneterre would reply tranquilly; "we'll put it off till next year." Now, let us read my sister's letter: "MY DEAR EUGÈNE: "It is the last of July, and you haven't come to see us yet; can it be that life in Paris has made you entirely forgetful of the relations who love you and think constantly of you and your future?----" My future! Oh, yes! that means another marriage on the carpet. What a mania it is of Amélie's! always trying to induce me to marry! It is worse than the conventional guardian of comedy. But let us go on: "It seems to me that you must be tired of those numerous conquests, of those gallant adventures, of those women who have no other guide than pleasure, and who forget you as quickly as they adore you.----" Aha! sarcasm! You are mistaken, my dear sister; I am not tired of making conquests; those that I make are not all so simple as you think, said I to myself. But in the provinces people are even more spiteful, more evil-tongued than in Paris; and since my sister has left the capital, she takes it upon herself to lecture me. But at heart she is kindness itself! I cannot be angry with her for constantly thinking of me. But where was I? "As quickly as they adore you. I often hear of you from people who come here from Paris; I know that you are more heedless than ever, that you think of nothing but your pleasures, that you deceive all your mistresses, that they pay you back in your own coin.----" How well she divines the truth! it is astonishing! "We never hear of any sensible action on your part.----" Ah! my dear sister, if you had known the story of the night I had just passed! And people slander me, and call me a libertine!--But you were very, very pretty, Nicette! and I was really entitled to great credit for my self-restraint.