as much with its fitting her goddess, as if she had dived into the
Tiber for it;--but thou art a seduced, and a seducing slut; and
albeit thou cheatest us seven times a day with thy pictures and
images, yet with so many charms dost thou do it, and thou deckest
out thy pictures in the shapes of so many angels of light, 'tis a
shame to break with thee.

When we had got to the door of the Remise, she withdrew her hand
from across her forehead, and let me see the original: --it was a
face of about six-and-twenty,--of a clear transparent brown, simply
set off without rouge or powder;--it was not critically handsome,
but there was that in it, which, in the frame of mind I was in,
attached me much more to it,--it was interesting: I fancied it
wore the characters of a widow'd look, and in that state of its
declension, which had passed the two first paroxysms of sorrow, and
was quietly beginning to reconcile itself to its loss;--but a
thousand other distresses might have traced the same lines; I
wish'd to know what they had been--and was ready to inquire, (had
the same bon ton of conversation permitted, as in the days of
Esdras)--"What ailelh thee? and why art thou disquieted? and why is
thy understanding troubled?"--In a word, I felt benevolence for
her; and resolv'd some way or other to throw in my mite of
courtesy,--if not of service.

Such were my temptations;--and in this disposition to give way to
them, was I left alone with the lady with her hand in mine, and
with our faces both turned closer to the door of the Remise than
what was absolutely necessary.