Next week, when we were together as usual, M. de Bemis called the housekeeper just before supper, and in his presence executed a deed in my behalf, which he made him sign.  In this document he transferred to me all rights over the contents of the casino, and charged him to consider me in all things as his master.

We arranged to sup together two days after, to make our farewells, but on my arrival I found by herself, standing up, and pale as death, or rather as white as a statue of Carrara marble.

“He is gone,” she said, “and he leaves me to your care.  Fatal being, whom perchance I shall see no more, whom I thought I loved but as a friend, now you are lost to me I see my mistake.  Before I knew him I was not happy, but neither was I unhappy as I now am.”

I passed the whole night beside her, striving by the most delicate attentions to soften her grief, but with out success.  Her character, as abandoned to sorrow as to pleasure, was displayed to me during that long and weary night.  She told me at what hour I should come to the convent parlour, the next day, and on my arrival I was delighted to find her not quite so sad.  She shewed me a letter which her lover had written to her from Trevisa, and she then told me that I must come and see her twice a week, warning me that she would be accompanied sometimes by one nun and sometimes by another, for she foresaw that my visits would become the talk of the convent, when it became known that I was the individual who used to go to mass at their church.  She therefore told me to give in another name, to prevent C——­ C——­’s aunt from becoming suspicious.

“Nevertheless,” she added, “this will not prevent my coming alone when I have any matter of importance to communicate to you.  Promise me, sweetheart, to sup and sleep at the casino at least once a week, and write me a note each time by the housekeeper’s wife.”

I made no difficulty in promising her that much.

We thus passed a fortnight quietly enough, as she was happy again, and her amorous inclinations had returned in full force.  About this time she gave me a piece of news which delighted me—­namely, that C——­ C——­ had no longer anything to fear.

Full of amorous wishes and having to be content with the teasing pleasure of seeing one another through a wretched grating, we racked our brains to find out some way to be alone together to do what we liked, without any risk.

“I am assured,” she said, “of the good faith of the gardener’s sister.  I can go out and come in without fear of being seen, for the little door leading to the convent is not overlooked by any window—­indeed it is thought to be walled up.  Nobody can see me crossing the garden to the little stream, which is considered unnavigable.  All we want is a one-oared gondola, and I cannot believe that with the help of money you will be unable to find a boatman on whom we may rely.”

I understood from these expressions that she suspected me of becoming cold towards her, and this suspicion pierced me to the heart.