“You are right, it is a pleasant recollection; and thus I am always ready to forgive young folks the peccadilloes that love makes them commit.” “You are a wise old man,” said I, “everyone should sympathise with the tenderest of all our mortal follies.” “If the old man is wise,” said Rosalie, when he had left the room, “my mother must be very foolish.” “Would you like me to take you to the play to-morrow?” “Pray do not. I will come if you like, but it will vex me very much. I don’t want to walk out with you or to go to the theatre with you here. Good heavens! What would people say. No, neither at Marseilles; but elsewhere, anything you please and with all my heart.” “Very good, my dear, just as you please. But look at your room; no more garret for you; and in three days we will start.” “So soon?” “Yes; tell me to-morrow what you require for the journey, for I don’t want you to lack for anything, and if you leave it all to me I might forget something which would vex me.” “Well, I should like another cloak, a cloak with a lining, some boots, a night-cap, and a prayer-book.” “You know how to read, do you?” “Certainly; and I can write fairly well.” “I am glad to hear it. Your asking me so freely for what you want is a true proof of your love; where confidence dwells not there is no love. I will not forget anything, but your feet are so small that I should advise you to get your boots yourself.” Our talk was so pleasant, and I experienced such delight in studying her disposition, that we did not go to bed till five o’clock. In the arms of love and sleep we spent seven delicious hours, and when we rose at noon we were fast lovers. She called me thou, talked of love and not of gratitude, and, grown more familiar with her new estate, laughed at her troubles. She kissed me at every opportunity, called me her darling boy, her joy, and as the present moment is the only real thing in this life, I enjoyed her love, I was pleased with her caresses, and put away all ideas of the dreadful future, which has only one certainty--death, ‘ultima linea rerum’. The second night was far sweeter than the first; she had made a good supper, and drunk well, though moderately; thus she was disposed to refine on her pleasure, and to deliver herself with greater ardour to all the voluptuous enjoyments which love inspires. I gave her a pretty watch and a gold shuttle for her to amuse herself with. “I wanted it,” said she, “but I should never have dared to ask for it.” I told her that this fear of my displeasure made me doubt once more whether she really loved me. She threw herself into my arms, and promised that henceforth she would shew me the utmost confidence. I was pleased to educate this young girl, and I felt that when her mind had been developed she would be perfect.