“You are not the first of your profession who has offered worlds that did not belong to him. * * * I cannot, I am afraid of your rattlesnakes.”
“One encounters greater dangers daily in the midst of Paris.”
“The ladies?”
“They resemble snakes only in the power of charming.”
“I have seen gentlemen, sometimes, bit by them.”
“Yes, both young and rich.—What an impertinent question!—For the beauty you shall judge for yourself; and I will not place you in the unpleasant predicament of Paris; you will incur no displeasure of Minerva or Juno in giving me the prize.” She then removed her mask, under the light of a brillant lamp, and discovered, not only the prettiest face I have seen in Europe, but the one I was most anxious to see—the face of my quondam “wife of two minutes,” whom I had once met at the Louvre, and of whom I have spoken in a former letter.
I would give you more of her conversation; but who, but a simpleton relates dialogues with himself? Besides, what fop is there who writes a play, or a novel, or a letter of travels, who does not promulgate some foolish adventure of his, at a masquerade? * * * “You cannot either in propriety or humanity leave me without your name or address.”
“D’accord,—the name or the address?” I foolishly chose the latter; and she gave me her residence, with an invitation to visit her at her No.—— in the Via di Sancto Spirito, Florence.
“One might as well have an eel by the tail.”
“Better have an eel by the tail than a wolf by the ears;” with this proverb she dropped into the great ocean, and all was smooth again. This woman, notwithstanding my immense prudence, was near pinching me by the heart. Love was just chirping, but Duty breathed her cold breath upon him—and he remained unhatched.