“I am Count B——, canon of Bale.”
“And do you think you have been performing an ecclesiastical function here?”
“No sir, no, and I hope you will forgive me and the lady too, for I am the only guilty party.”
“I am not asking you whether she is guilty or not.”
“Sir, the countess is perfectly innocent.”
I felt in a good temper, and far from being angry I was strongly inclined to laugh. I found the picture before me an attractive one; it was amusing and voluptuous. The sight of the two nudities on the bed was a truly lascivious one, and I remained contemplating it in silence for a quarter of an hour, occupied in resisting a strong temptation to take off my clothes and lie beside them. The only thing which prevented my yielding to it was the fear that I might find the canon to be a fool, incapable of playing the part with dignity. As for the Corticelli, she soon passed from tears to laughter, and would have done it well, but if, as I feared, the canon was a blockhead, I should have been degrading myself.
I felt certain that neither of them had guessed my thoughts, so I rose and told the canon to put on his clothes.
“No one must hear anything more of this,” said I, “but you and I will go to a distance of two hundred paces and burn a little powder.”
“No, no, sir,” cried my gentleman, “you may take me where you like, and kill me if you please, but I was not meant for a fighting man.”
“Really?”