"Very good, but remember to keep your own counsel."

I proceeded to inform my Minerva of our conversation, and she said,--

"Tell me whether the widow could take her oath that she had spent the two
hours on the sofa with you."

"No, for she didn't see me, and I did not say a word."

"Very good; then sit down at your desk and write, and tell her she is a
liar, as you did not leave your room at all, and that you are making the
necessary enquiries in your household to find out who is the wretched
person she has unwittingly contaminated. Write at once and send off your
letter directly. In an hour and a half's time you can write another
letter; or rather you can copy what I am just going to put down."

"My dear, I see your plan; it is an ingenious one, but I have given my
word of honour to Madame to take no steps in the matter without first
consulting her."

"Then your word of honour must give way to the necessity of saving her
honour. Your love retards your steps, but everything depends on our
promptitude, and on the interval between the first and second letter.
Follow my advice, I beg of you, and you will know the rest from the
letter I am going to write for you to copy. Quick I write letter number
one."

I did not allow myself to reflect. I was persuaded that no better plan
could be found than that of my charming governess, and I proceeded to
write the following love-letter to the impudent monster: