I liked this metaphysical line of argument. I saw that I had only to destroy the idea of duty in her and all the rest would follow. What I had to do was to enter into an argument, and to bear away the prize directly I saw her at a loss for an answer. “If your duty,” I began, “forces you to repulse me in spite of yourself, your duty is a burden on you. If it is a burden on you, it is your enemy, and if it is your enemy why do you suffer it thus lightly to gain the victory? If you were your own friend, you would at once expel this insolent enemy from your coasts.” “That may not be.” “Yes, it may. Only shut your eyes.” “Like that?” “Yes.” I immediately laid hands on a tender place; she repulsed me, but more gently and not so seriously as before. “You may, of course, seduce me,” she said, “but if you really love me you will spare me the shame.” “Dearest Ignazia, there is no shame in a girl giving herself up to the man she loves. Love justifies all things. If you do not love me I ask nothing of you.” “But how shall I convince you that I am actuated by love and not by complaisance?” “Leave me to do what I like, and my self-esteem will help me to believe you.” “But as I cannot be certain that you will believe me, my duty plainly points to a refusal.” “Very good, but you will make me sad and cold.” “Then I shall be sad, too.” At these encouraging words I embraced her, and obtained some solid favours with one hardy hand. She made no opposition, and I was well pleased with what I had got; and for a first attempt I could not well expect more. At this juncture the mother came in with the dominos and gloves. I refused to accept the change, and went away to return in my carriage, as before. Thus the first step had been taken, and Donna Ignazia felt it would be ridiculous not to join in with my conversation at the ball which all tended to procuring the pleasure of spending our nights together. She found me affectionate all the evening, and at supper I did my best to get her everything she liked. I made her see that the part she had at last taken was worthy of praise, and not blame. I filled her pockets with sweets, and put into my own pockets two bottles of ratafia, which I handed over to the mother, who was asleep in the carriage. Donna Ignazia gratefully refused the quadruple I wished to give her, saying that if it were in my power to make such presents, I might give the money to her lover whenever he called on me. “Certainly,” I answered, “but what shall I say to prevent his taking offence?” “Tell him that it is on account of what he asked you. He is poor, and I am sure he is in despair at not seeing me in the window to-night. I shall tell him I only went to the ball with you to please my father.”