Scarcely was this cause of dread removed when another, more terrible still, overtook me.

One evening he took me with him to a literary reuenion, at which every bel-esprit of the capital was to be present.  At first I refused to go, for I feared that the eyes of some of my own sex might penetrate my disguise; but he seemed so much hurt at my refusal that I was forced to withdraw it.  The soiree was a very brilliant one.  But little notice was taken of the shy, awkward, silent youth, who glided from room to room, hovering ever near the spot where his beloved, master stood or sat, in conversation with the gifted of both sexes.  How I envied the ladies whose hands he touched, and to whom his polite attentions were addressed.  For, as I have said, my master was a man of the world, wealthy and distinguished; and notwithstanding his advanced years, ladies still courted his attentions.

There was one lady in particular, who spared no pains to attract him to herself.  She was the widow of a celebrated litterateur and was herself well known as a brilliant but shallow writer.  She was not young, but she was well-preserved, and owed much to the arts of the toilet.  I saw her lavishing her smiles and blandishments on my dear master; I saw that he was not insensible to the power of her charms, artificial as they were; and a cruel jealousy fastened, like the vulture of Prometheus, on my vitals.

Could I but have entered the lists with her on equal ground; could I but have appeared before him in my own proper person, arrayed in appropriate and maidenly costume, I felt sure of gaining the victory, for I had youth on my side; I had already an interest in his heart; but, alas!  I could not do this without first announcing myself as an impostor, as a liar and deceiver, to the man whose good opinion I prized above all earthly things.

A dreadful thought now rested on my mind day and night:  What if this woman should accomplish her designs?  What if my master should marry her?  What would then become of me?

But I was spared this trial.

The translation was finished; it was in the hands of the publisher; and the proof-sheets had been carefully revised, partly by my master, partly by myself.  He had insisted on putting my name with his own on the title-page; but I refused my consent with a pertinacity which he could not comprehend, and which came nearer making him angry than any thing that had ever transpired between us.

One day, as I sat in the library, I saw my master come home, accompanied by two gentlemen.  He did not, as was his custom with his intimates, bring them into the library, but received them in the little used reception-room.  They remained some time.

When they left, my master came into the library, rubbing his hands and looking exceedingly well-pleased.  But at sight of me, his countenance fell.  He approached me, and in a tone of regret, said: