"There is always time enough to talk about dying," said I, "when all
other means have failed. I think you could easily get rid of la
Popeliniere, who is a man of honour. Tell him how you are situated, and
he will act without compromising you, as his own interest is sufficiently
involved to make him keep the secret."

"But should I be much better off then? And how about my mother?"

"Your mother? Oh! I will make her listen to reason."

"You know not what she is like. The honour of the family would oblige her
to get me out of the way, but before that she would make me suffer
torments to which death is preferable by far. But why have you said no
more about the aroph? Is it not all a jest? It would be a very cruel
one."

"On the contrary, I believe it to be infallible, though I have never been
a witness of its effects; but what good is it for me to speak to you?
You can guess that a delicacy of feeling has made me keep silence.
Confide in your lover, who is at Venice; write him a letter, and I will
take care that it is given into his hands, in five or six days, by a sure
messenger. If he is not well off I will give you whatever money may be
needed for him to come without delay, and save your honour and life by
giving you the aroph."

"This idea is a good one and the offer generous on your part, but it is
not feasible, as you would see if you knew more about my circumstances.
Do not think any more of my lover; but supposing I made up my mind to
receive the aroph from another, tell me how it could be done. Even if my