words, as well as her looks, had found their way to my heart, besides
enlisting my generous sympathy. I took the stiletto, and left her with so
much agitation that I had to acknowledge the weakness of my heroism,
which I was very near turning into ridicule; yet I had the wonderful
strength to perform, at least by halves, the character of a Cato until
the seventh day.

I must explain how a certain suspicion of the young lady arose in my
mind. That doubt was heavy on my heart, for, if it had proved true, I
should have been a dupe, and the idea was humiliating. She had told me
that she was a musician; I had immediately sent her a harpsichord, and,
yet, although the instrument had been at her disposal for three days, she
had not opened it once, for the widow had told me so. It seemed to me
that the best way to thank me for my attentive kindness would have been
to give me a specimen of her musical talent. Had she deceived me? If so,
she would lose my esteem. But, unwilling to form a hasty judgment, I kept
on my guard, with a firm determination to make good use of the first
opportunity that might present itself to clear up my doubts.

I called upon her the next day after dinner, which was not my usual time,
having resolved on creating the opportunity myself. I caught her seated
before a toilet-glass, while the widow dressed the most beautiful auburn
hair I had ever seen. I tendered my apologies for my sudden appearance at
an unusual hour; she excused herself for not having completed her toilet,
and the widow went on with her work. It was the first time I had seen the
whole of her face, her neck, and half of her arms, which the graces
themselves had moulded. I remained in silent contemplation. I praised,
quite by chance, the perfume of the pomatum, and the widow took the
opportunity of telling her that she had spent in combs, powder, and
pomatum the three livres she had received from her. I recollected then