The worthy abbe went away towards the evening, telling me that he would expect me to breakfast next morning.

I spent the rest of the day in making love to Redegonde, and Therese, who saw that I was pleased with the girl, advised me to declare myself, and promised that she would ask her to the house as often as I liked.  But Therese did not know her.

Next morning Gama told me that he had informed Marshal Botta that I would come and see him, and he would present me at four o’clock.  Then the worthy abbe, always the slave of his curiosity, reproached me in a friendly manner for not having told him anything about my fortune.

“I did not think it was worth mentioning, but as you are interested in the subject I may tell you that my means are small, but that I have friends whose purses are always open to me.”

“If you have true friends you are a rich man, but true friends are scarce.”

I left the Abbe Gama, my head full of Redegonde, whom I preferred to the young Corticelli, and I went to pay her a visit; but what a reception!  She received me in a room in which were present her mother, her uncle, and three or four dirty, untidy little monkeys:  these were her brothers.’

“Haven’t you a better room to receive your friends in?” said I.

“I have no friends, so I don’t want a room.”

“Get it, my dear, and you will find the friends come fast enough.  This is all very well for you to welcome your relations in, but not persons like myself who come to do homage to your charms and your talents.”

“Sir,” said the mother, “my daughter has but few talents, and thinks nothing of her charms, which are small.”

“You are extremely modest, and I appreciate your feelings; but everybody does not see your daughter with the same eyes, and she pleased me greatly.”

“That is an honour for her, and we are duly sensible of it, but not so as to be over-proud.  My daughter will see you as often as you please, but here, and in no other place.”

“But I am afraid of being in the way here.”

“An honest man is never in the way.”

I felt ashamed, for nothing so confounds a libertine as modesty in the mouth of poverty; and not knowing what to answer I took my leave.

I told Therese of my unfortunate visit, and we both, laughed at it; it was the best thing we could do.

“I shall be glad to see you at the opera,” said she, “and you can get into my dressing-room if you give the door-keeper a small piece of money.”

The Abbe Gama came as he promised, to take me to Marshal Botta, a man of high talents whom the affair of Genoa had already rendered famous.  He was in command of the Austrian army when the people, growing angry at the sight of the foreigners, who had only come to put them under the Austrian yoke, rose in revolt and made them leave the town.  This patriotic riot saved the Republic.  I found him in the midst of