“Not at all, dear brother. I forbid you to set foot in my house, where your presence would be offensive to Marcoline, whom you must not see any more.” “Yes, I will; I will return to Venice, if I have to hang for it.” “What good would that be? She won’t have you.” “She loves me.” “She beats you.” “She beats me because she loves me. She will be as gentle as a lamb when she sees me so well dressed. You do not know how I suffer.” “I can partly guess, but I do not pity you, for you are an impious and cruel fool. You have broken your vows, and have not hesitated to make a young girl endure misery and degradation to satisfy your caprice. What would you have done, I should like to know, if I had given you the cold shoulder instead of helping you?” “I should have gone into the street, and begged for my living with her.” “She would have beaten you, and would probably have appealed to the law to get rid of you.” “But what will you do for me, if I let her go back to Venice without following her.” “I will take you to France, and try to get you employed by some bishop.” “Employed! I was meant by nature to be employed by none but God.” “You proud fool! Marcoline rightly called you a whiner. Who is your God? How do you serve Him? You are either a hypocrite or an idiot. Do you think that you, a priest, serve God by decoying an innocent girl away from her home? Do you serve Him by profaning the religion you do not even understand? Unhappy fool! do you think that with no talent, no theological learning, and no eloquence, you can be a Protestant minister. Take care never to come to my house, or I will have you expelled from Genoa.” “Well, well, take me to Paris, and I will see what my brother Francis can do for me; his heart is not so hard as yours.” “Very good! you shall go to Paris, and we will start from here in three or four days. Eat and drink to your heart’s content, but remain indoors; I will let you know when we are going. I shall have my niece, my secretary, and my valet with me. We shall travel by sea.” “The sea makes me sick.” “That will purge away some of your bad humours.” When I got home I told Marcoline what had passed between us. “I hate him!” said she; “but I forgive him, since it is through him I know you.” “And I forgive him, too, because unless it had been for him I should never have seen you. But I love you, and I shall die unless you satisfy my desires.” “Never; for I know I should be madly in love with you, and then you would leave me, and I should be miserable again.” “I will never leave you.” “If you will swear that, take me into France and make me all your own. Here you must continue living with Annette; besides, I have got your niece to make love to.”