I spent the day and night in these delirious thoughts, and in the morning, feeling worse than ever, I sent to M. d’O---- to say that I could not possibly leave my room. Then I began to read and re-read the letters I had written to Manon, calling upon her name in a sort of frenzy; and again set myself to write to her without finishing a single letter. The emptiness of my stomach and the shock I had undergone began to stupefy me, and for a few moments I forgot my anguish only to re-awaken to acuter pains soon after. About three o’clock, the worthy M. d’O---- came to invite me to go with him to the Hague, where the chief masons of Holland met on the day following to keep the Feast of St. John, but when he saw my condition he did not press me to come. “What is the matter with you, my dear Casanova?” said he. “I have had a great grief, but let us say no more about it.” He begged me to come and see Esther, and left me looking almost as downcast as I was. However, the next morning Esther anticipated my visit, for at nine o’clock she and her governess came into the room. The sight of her did me good. She was astonished to see me so undone and cast down, and asked me what was the grief of which I had spoken to her father, and which had proved too strong for my philosophy. “Sit down beside me, Esther dear, and allow me to make a mystery of what has affected me so grievously. Time, the mighty healer, and still more your company, will effect a cure which I should in vain seek by appealing to my reason. Whilst we talk of other things I shall not feel the misfortune which gnaws at my heart.” “Well, get up, dress yourself, and come and spend the day with me, and I will do my best to make you forget your sorrow.” “I feel very weak; for the last three days I have only taken a little broth and chocolate.” At these words her face fell, and she began to weep. After a moment’s silence she went to my desk, took a pen, and wrote a few lines, which she brought to me. They were,-- “Dear, if a large sum of money, beyond what my father owes you, can remove or even soothe your grief I can be your doctor, and you ought to know that your accepting my treatment would make me happy.” I took her hands and kissed them affectionately, saying,-- “No, dear Esther, generous Esther, it is not money I want, for if I did I would ask you and your father as a friend: what I want, and what no one can give me, is a resolute mind, and determination to act for the best.” “Ask advice of your oracle.” I could not help laughing. “Why do you laugh?” said she, “if I am not mistaken, the oracle must know a remedy for your woes.” “I laughed, dearest, because I felt inclined to tell you to consult the oracle this time. As for me I will have nothing to do with it, lest the cure be worse than the disease.” “But you need not follow your advice unless you like it.”