“What? you are going to make her pregnant? That’s ridiculous! Does she imagine that she has conceived?”
“Certainly; and the hope makes her happy.”
“What a mad idea! But why did you try to do it three times?”
“I thought to shew my strength, and that if I gazed on you I should not fail; but I was quite mistaken.”
“I pity you for having suffered so much.”
“You will renew my strength.”
As a matter of fact, I do not know whether to attribute it to the difference between the old and the young, but I spent a most delicious night with the beautiful Venetian—a night which I can only compare to those I passed at Parma with Henriette, and at Muran with the beautiful nun. I spent fourteen hours in bed, of which four at least were devoted to expiating the insult I had offered to love. When I had dressed and taken my chocolate I told Marcoline to dress herself with elegance, and to expect me in the evening just before the play began. I could see that she was intensely delighted with the prospect.
I found Madame d’Urfe in bed, dressed with care and in the fashion of a young bride, and with a smile of satisfaction on her face which I had never remarked there before.
“To thee, beloved Galtinardus, I owe all my happiness,” said she, as she embraced me.
“I am happy to have contributed to it, divine Semiramis, but you must remember I am only the agent of the genii.”