A happy dream made me pass the night with the fair lady; doubtless it was a delusion, but a delusion full of bliss.  What would I not give now for such dreams, which made my nights so sweet!

Next morning at day-break I was at her door with her boots in my hand just as their coachman came to call them.  I asked them, as a matter of form, if they would have breakfast, and they replied merrily that they had made too good a supper to have any appetite at such an early hour.  I went out of the room to give them time to dress, but the door was half open, and I saw reflected in the glass the snow-white bosom of my fair one; it was an intoxicating sight.  When she had laced herself and put on her dress she called for her boots.  I asked if I should put them on, to which she consented with a good grace, and as she had green velvet breeches, she seemed to consider herself as almost a man.  And, after all, a waiter is not worth putting one’s self out about.  All the worst for him if he dare conceive any hopes from the trifling concessions he receives.  His punishment will be severe, for who would have thought he could have presumed so far?  As for me, I am now, sad to say, grown old, and enjoy some few privileges of this description, which I relish, though despising myself, and still more those who thus indulge me.

After she had gone I went to sleep again, hoping to see her in the evening.  When I awoke I heard that the abbot of Einsiedel was at Zurich, and my landlord told me that his reverend highness would dine with me in my room.  I told him that I wished to treat the abbot well, and that he must set the best dinner he could for us.

At noon the worthy prelate was shewn up to my room, and began by complimenting me on the good reputation I had at Zurich, saying that this made him believe that my vocation was a real one.

“The following distich,” he added, “should now become your motto: 
   “Inveni portum.  Spes et fortuna valete;
   Nil mihi vobiscum est:  ludite nuns alios.”

“That is a translation of two verses from Euripides,” I answered; “but, my lord, they will not serve me, as I have changed my mind since yesterday.”

“I congratulate you,” said he, “and I hope you will accomplish all your desires.  I may tell you confidentially that it is much easier to save one’s soul in the world where one can do good to one’s neighbours, than in the convent, where a man does no good to himself nor to anyone else.”

This was not speaking like the hypocrite Guistiniani had described to me; on the contrary, it was the language of a good and sensible man.

We had a princely dinner, as my landlord had made each of the three courses a work of art.  The repast was enlivened by an interesting conversation, to which wit and humour were not lacking.  After coffee I thanked the abbot with the greatest respect, and accompanied him to his carriage, where the reverend father reiterated his offers of serving me, and thus, well pleased with one another, we parted.