"She is right."

"Eh? what? You do me too much honour, and I don't believe you; but have
it as you like."

"I can't do better, but I must confess when all's said that you were not
the person to whom my fevered imagination offered such ardent homage."

At supper I jested, pretended to be astonished at the count's
indiscretion, and boasted of being cured of my passion. Babet called me a
villain, and maintained that I was far from cured; but she was wrong, as
the incident had disgusted me with her, and had attached me to the count,
who, indeed, was a man of the most amiable character. Nevertheless, our
friendship might have been a fatal one, as the reader will see presently.

One evening, when I was at the Italian theatre, Tour d'Auvergne came up
to me and asked me to lend him a hundred louis, promising to repay me
next Saturday.

"I haven't got the money," I said, "but my purse and all it contains is
at your service."

"I want a hundred louis, my dear fellow, and immediately, as I lost them
at play yesterday evening at the Princess of Anhalt's."

"But I haven't got them."

"The receiver of the lottery ought always to be able to put his hand on a
hundred louis."