Said the
girl. - With reason, said I, for if it is a good one, 'tis pity it
should be stolen; 'tis a little treasure to thee, and gives a
better air to your face, than if it was dress'd out with pearls.
The young girl listened with a submissive attention, holding her
satin purse by its riband in her hand all the time. - 'Tis a very
small one, said I, taking hold of the bottom of it - she held it
towards me - and there is very little in it, my dear, said I; but be
but as good as thou art handsome, and heaven will fill it. I had a
parcel of crowns in my hand to pay for Shakespeare; and, as she had
let go the purse entirely, I put a single one in; and, tying up the
riband in a bow-knot, returned it to her.
The young girl made me more a humble courtesy than a low one: -
'twas one of those quiet, thankful sinkings, where the spirit bows
itself down, - the body does no more than tell it. I never gave a
girl a crown in my life which gave me half the pleasure.
My advice, my dear, would not have been worth a pin to you, said I,
if I had not given this along with it: but now, when you see the
crown, you'll remember it; - so don't, my dear, lay it out in
ribands.
Upon my word, Sir, said the girl, earnestly, I am incapable; - in
saying which, as is usual in little bargains of honour, she gave me
her hand: - En verite, Monsieur, je mettrai cet argent apart, said
she.
When a virtuous convention is made betwixt man and woman, it
sanctifies their most private walks: so, notwithstanding it was
dusky, yet as both our roads lay the same way, we made no scruple
of walking along the Quai de Conti together.
She made me a second courtesy in setting off, and before we got
twenty yards from the door, as if she had not done enough before,
she made a sort of a little stop to tell me again - she thank'd me.
It was a small tribute, I told her, which I could not avoid paying
to virtue, and would not be mistaken in the person I had been
rendering it to for the world; - but I see innocence, my dear, in
your face, - and foul befall the man who ever lays a snare in its
way!
The girl seem'd affected some way or other with what I said; - she
gave a low sigh: - I found I was not empowered to enquire at all
after it, - so said nothing more till I got to the corner of the Rue
de Nevers, where, we were to part.
- But is this the way, my dear, said I, to the Hotel de Modene?
She told me it was; - or that I might go by the Rue de Gueneguault,
which was the next turn. - Then I'll go, my dear, by the Rue de
Gueneguault, said I, for two reasons; first, I shall please myself,
and next, I shall give you the protection of my company as far on
your way as I can. The girl was sensible I was civil - and said,
she wished the Hotel de Modene was in the Rue de St. Pierre. - You
live there? said I. - She told me she was fille de chambre to Madame
R-. - Good God! said I, 'tis the very lady for whom I have brought a
letter from Amiens. - The girl told me that Madame R-, she believed,
expected a stranger with a letter, and was impatient to see him: -
so I desired the girl to present my compliments to Madame R-, and
say, I would certainly wait upon her in the morning.
We stood still at the corner of the Rue de Nevers whilst this
pass'd. - We then stopped a moment whilst she disposed of her
Egarements du Coeur &c. more commodiously than carrying them in her
hand - they were two volumes: so I held the second for her whilst
she put the first into her pocket; and then she held her pocket,
and I put in the other after it.
'Tis sweet to feel by what fine spun threads our affections are
drawn together.
We set off afresh, and as she took her third step, the girl put her
hand within my arm. - I was just bidding her, - but she did it of
herself, with that undeliberating simplicity, which show'd it was
out of her head that she had never seen me before. For my own
part, I felt the conviction of consanguinity so strongly, that I
could not help turning half round to look in her face, and see if I
could trace out any thing in it of a family likeness. - Tut! said I,
are we not all relations?
When we arrived at the turning up of the Rue de Gueneguault, I
stopp'd to bid her adieu for good and all: the girl would thank me
again for my company and kindness. - She bid me adieu twice. - I
repeated it as often; and so cordial was the parting between us,
that had it happened any where else, I'm not sure but I should have
signed it with a kiss of charity, as warm and holy as an apostle.
But in Paris, as none kiss each other but the men, - I did, what
amounted to the same thing -
- I bid God bless her.
THE PASSPORT. PARIS.
When I got home to my hotel, La Fleur told me I had been enquired
after by the Lieutenant de Police. - The deuce take it! said I, - I
know the reason. It is time the reader should know it, for in the
order of things in which it happened, it was omitted:
