“I should like to so much,” said Hedvig.
“And I too,” said Helen.
“Then sit down, ladies, on the first step.”
They proceeded to sit down and I began to take off their shoes, praising the beauty of their legs, and pretending for the present not to want to go farther than the knee. When they got into the water they were obliged to pick up their clothes, and I encouraged them to do so.
“Well, well,” said Hedvig, “men have thighs too.”
Helen, who would have been ashamed to be beaten by her cousin, was not backward in shewing her legs.
“That will do, charming maids,” said I, “you might catch cold if you stayed longer in the water.”
They walked up backwards, still holding up their clothes for fear of wetting them, and it was then my duty to wipe them dry with all the handkerchiefs I had. This pleasant task left me at freedom to touch and see, and the reader will imagine that I did my best in that direction. The fair theologian told me I wanted to know too much, but Helen let me do what I liked with such a tender and affectionate expression that it was as much as I could do to keep within bounds. At last, when I had drawn on their shoes and stockings, I told them that I was delighted to have seen the hidden charms of the two prettiest girls in Geneva.
“What effect had it on you?” asked Hedvig.
“I daren’t tell you to look, but feel, both of you.”