I am certain male readers will not ask for any explanation of my conduct, for they fully understand why I stopped half way.

But lady readers more inquisitive or more ignorant of certain articles of our code, will surely wish to know why I went no further.

I must say that it was not for lack of desire, but Violette, as I stated before, was barely fifteen years old, and then she was so innocent that it would have seemed like a crime to take possession of charms given away, so to speak, without any consciousness of the seriousness of the act. And again, I must add, that I am one of those who delight in the relish of all the preliminary delicacies of love, all the voluptuousness of its most complicated pleasures.

Innocence is a flower which should be left unculled as long as possible on its stalk, and should be plucked only leaf by leaf.

A rosebud will sometimes be a week in bursting into a full blown flower. Besides, I like pleasure without attendant remorse; and within the walls of the city which so well defended itself against the invader in 1792 there existed a veteran whose old age I respected.

The worthy man did not seem as if he would have committed suicide on account of the mishap of his eldest daughter, but perhaps he loved more tenderly his youngest-perhaps he had formed for her future plans which I did not like to upset. Besides, I have always noticed that with patience everything goes well for everybody.

I thus pondered until daybreak. Pent up with fatigue, I at last closed my eyes and slept on till eight o'clock.

I got up hastily, as Violette must have been an early riser. I told my man that I should probably not be home for breakfast, I hailed a cab, and in five minutes was at the house in Rue Saint Augustin.

I went upstairs four steps at a time, and my heart beat as if this were my first love.

I entered the room noiselessly. Not only was Violette fast asleep, but she had not even moved.