before now if I had not been so unfortunate as to love the young
Christian you saw with me, while he does not care for me in the least;
indeed I have to pay him.

"In spite of my passion," she continued, "I have never given him what a
girl can give but once. I had not seen him for six months, and it was
your fault that I sent for him, for you inflamed me with your pictures
and strong wines."

The end of it all was that I ought to forget everything, and treat her
kindly during the few days I was to remain there.

When she finished I did not allow myself to make any objection. I
pretended to be convinced, assuring her that I felt I had been in the
wrong in letting her see Aretin's figures, and that I would no longer
evince any resentment towards her.

As her explanation did not seem likely to end in the way she wished, she
went on talking about the weakness of the flesh, the strength of
self-love which often hushes the voice of passion, etc., etc.; her aim
being to persuade me that she loved me, and that her refusals had all
been given with the idea of making my love the stronger.

No doubt I might have given her a great many answers, but I said nothing.
I made up my mind to await the assault that I saw was impending, and then
by refusing all her advances I reckoned on abasing her to the uttermost.
Nevertheless, she made no motion; her hands were at rest, and she kept
her face at a due distance from mine.

At last, tired out with the struggle, she left me pretending to be