I supped with Annette, and was glad to see that, though she only drank water, her appetite was better than mine. My passion for her sister prevented me thinking of her, but I felt that Annette would otherwise have taken my fancy. When we were taking dessert, I conceived the idea of making her drunk to get her talk of her sister, so I gave her a glass of Lunel muscat.
“I only drink water, sir.”
“Don’t you like wine?”
“Yes, but as I am not used to it I am afraid of its getting into my head.”
“Then you can go to bed; you will sleep all the better.”
She drank the first glass, which she enjoyed immensely, then a second, and then a third. Her little brains were in some confusion when she had finished the third glass. I made her talk about her sister, and in perfect faith she told me all the good imaginable.
“Then you are very fond of Veronique?” said I.
“Oh, yes! I love her with all my heart, but she will not let me caress her.”
“No doubt she is afraid of your ceasing to love her. But do you think she ought to make me suffer so?”
“No, but if you love her you ought to forgive her.”