"To possess me? I don't understand you, sir; I'm an honest girl." "I dare say; but you wouldn't be any less honest after making me happy. Dear Redegonde, do not let me languish for you, but tell me my fate now this instant." "I do not know what to tell you, but you can come and see me whenever you like." "When shall I find you alone?" "Alone! I am never alone." "Well, well, that's of no consequence; if only your mother is present, that comes to the same thing. If she is sensible, she will pretend not to see anything, and I will give you a hundred ducats each time." "You are either a madman, or you do not know what sort of people we are." With these words she went on, and I proceeded to tell Therese what had passed. "Begin," said she, "by offering the hundred ducats to the mother, and if she refuses, have no more to do with them, and go elsewhere." I returned to the dressing-room, where I found the mother alone, and without any ceremony spoke as follows:-- "Good evening, madam, I am a stranger here; I am only staying a week, and I am in love with your daughter. If you like to be obliging, bring her to sup with me. I will give you a hundred sequins each time, so you see my purse is in your power." "Whom do you think you are talking to, sir? I am astonished at your impudence. Ask the townsfolk what sort of character I bear, and whether my daughter is an honest girl or not! and you will not make such proposals again." "Good-bye, madam." "Good-bye, sir." As I went out I met Redegonde, and I told her word for word the conversation I had had with her mother. She burst out laughing. "Have I done well or ill?" said I. "Well enough, but if you love me come and see me." "See you after what your mother said?" "Well, why not, who knows of it?" "Who knows? You don't know me, Redegonde. I do not care to indulge myself in idle hopes, and I thought I had spoken to you plainly enough." Feeling angry, and vowing to have no more to do with this strange girl, I supped with Therese, and spent three delightful hours with her. I had a great deal of writing to do the next day and kept in doors, and in the evening I had a visit from the young Corticelli, her mother and brother. She begged me to keep my promise regarding the manager of the theatre, who would not let her dance the 'pas de deux' stipulated for in the agreement. "Come and breakfast with me to-morrow morning," said I, "and I will speak to the Israelite in your presence--at least I will do so if he comes." "I love you very much," said the young wanton, "can't I stop a little longer here." "You may stop as long as you like, but as I have got some letters to finish, I must ask you to excuse my entertaining you." "Oh! just as you please." I told Costa to give her some supper.