Before the supper I had loved Armelline to such an extent that I had determined to see her no more, but after it I felt that I must obtain her or die. I saw that she had only consented to my small liberties because she regarded them as mere jokes, of no account, and I resolved to take advantage of this way of looking at it to go as far as I could. I began to play the part of indifferent to the best of my ability, only visiting her every other day, and looking at her with an expression of polite interest. I often pretended to forget to kiss her hand, while I kissed Emilie’s and told her that if I felt certain of receiving positive marks of her affection I should stay at Civita Vecchia for some weeks after she was married. I would not see Armelline’s horror, who could not bear me to take a fancy to Emilie. Emilie said that she would be more at liberty when she was married, while Armelline, vexed at her giving me any hopes, told her sharply that a married woman had stricter duties to perform than a girl. I agreed with her in my heart, but as it would not have suited my purpose to say so openly I insinuated the false doctrine that a married woman’s chief duty is to keep her husband’s descent intact, and that everything else is of trifling importance. With the idea of driving Emilie to an extremity I told Emilie that if she wanted me to exert myself to my utmost for her she must give me good hopes of obtaining her favours not only after but before marriage. “I will give you no other favours.” she replied, “than those which Armelline may give you. You ought to try to get her married also.” In spite of her grief at these proposals, gentle Armelline replied,---- “You are the only man I have ever seen; and as I have no hopes of getting married I will give you no pledges at all, though I do not know what you mean by the word.” Though I saw how pure and angelic she was, I had the cruelty to go away, leaving her to her distress. It was hard for me to torment her thus, but I thought it was the only way to overcome her prejudices. Calling on the Venetian ambassador’s steward I saw some peculiarly fine oysters, and I got him to let me have a hundred. I then took a box at the Capronica Theatre, and ordered a good supper at the inn where we had supped before. “I want a room with a bed,” I said to the waiter. “That’s not allowed in Rome, signor,” he replied, “but on the third floor we have two rooms with large sofas which might do instead, without the Holy Office being able to say anything.” I looked at the rooms and took them, and ordered the man to get the best supper that Rome could offer.