"I have both seen and know her," I answered. "I furnished her with the
means to come here. How could she leave Nice without any money?"

"That's just what no one can understand. She went off in a carriage, and
the landlord's bill was paid. I was interested in the woman. The Marquis
Grimaldi told me that she had refused a hundred louis he offered her, and
that a Venetian of his acquaintance had fared just as badly. Perhaps that
is you?"

"It is, and I gave her some money despite my treatment."

M. Peterson came to see me, and was enchanted with Rosalie's amiable
manner. This was another conquest for her, and I duly complimented her
upon it.

Nice is a terribly dull place, and strangers are tormented by the midges,
who prefer them to the inhabitants. However, I amused myself at a small
bank at faro, which was held at a coffee-house, and at which Rosalie,
whose play I directed, won a score of Piedmontese pistoles. She put her
little earnings into a purse, and told me she liked to have some money of
her own. I scolded her for not having told me so before, and reminded her
of her promise.

"I don't really want it," said she, "it's only my thoughtlessness."

We soon made up our little quarrel.

In such ways did I make this girl my own, in the hope that for the
remnant of my days she would be mine, and so I should not be forced to
fly from one lady to another. But inexorable fate ordained it otherwise.