I breakfasted with Madame d’Urfe, whom I found inconsolable. It was the full moon, and at three minutes past four exactly I ought to perform the mysterious creation of the child in which she was to be born again. But the Lascaris, on whom the work was to be wrought, was twisting and turning in her bed, contorting herself in such a way that it would be impossible for me to accomplish the prolific work.
My grief, when I heard what had happened, was hypocritical; in the first place because I no longer felt any desire for the girl, and in the second because I thought I saw a way in which I could make use of the incident to take vengeance on her.
I lavished consolations on Madame d’Urfe; and on consulting the oracle I found that the Lascaris had been defiled by an evil genius, and that I must search for another virgin whose purity must be under the protection of more powerful spirits. I saw that my madwoman was perfectly happy with this, and I left her to visit the Corticelli, whom I found in bed with her mother beside her.
“You have convulsions, have you, dearest?” said I.
“No, I haven’t. I am quite well, but all the same I shall have them till you give me back my jewel-casket.”
“You are getting wicked, my poor child; this comes of following your mother’s advice. As for the casket, if you are going to behave like this, probably you will have it.”
“I will reveal all.”
“You will not be believed; and I shall send you back to Bologna without letting you take any of the presents which Madame d’Urfe has given you.”
“You ought to have given me back the casket when I declared myself with child.”
Signora Laura told me that this was only too true, though I was not the father.