to see Marcoline shedding tears, which she wiped away hastily as if to
hide them from the sight of the worthy old man whom wine had made more
theological than usual. Feigning to be enthusiastic, Marcoline took his
hand and kissed it, while he in his vain exaltation drew her towards him
and kissed her on the brow, saying, "Poveretta, you are an angel!"

At this incident, in which there was more love of our neighbour than love
of God, we all bit our lips to prevent ourselves bursting out laughing,
and the sly little puss pretended to be extremely moved.

I never knew Marcoline's capacities till then, for she confessed that her
emotion was wholly fictitious, and designed to win the old man's good
graces; and that if she had followed her own inclinations she would have
laughed heartily. She was designed to act a part either upon the stage or
on a throne. Chance had ordained that she should be born of the people,
and her education had been neglected; but if she had been properly
tutored she would have been fit for anything.

Before returning home we were warmly invited to dinner the next day.

As we wanted to be together, we did not go to the theatre that day and
when we got home I did not wait for Marcoline to undress to cover her
with kisses.

"Dear heart," said I, "you have not shewn me all your perfections till
now, when we are about to part; you make me regret you are going back to
Venice. Today you won all hearts."

"Keep me then, with you, and I will ever be as I have been to-day. By the
way, did you see my uncle?"