52. The Temptation. Paris

WHEN I alighted at the hotel, the ported told me a young woman with a band-box had been that moment inquiring for me.-I do not know, said the porter, whether she is gone away or no. I took the key of my chamber of him, and went up-stairs; and when I had got within ten steps of the top of the landing before my door, I met her coming easily down.

It was the fair fille de chambre I had walked along the Quai de Conti with: Madame de R-- had sent her upon some commissions to a merchante des modes within a step or two of the Hotel de Modene, and as I had fail'd in waiting upon her, had bid her inquire if I had left Paris, and if so, whether I had not left a letter addressed to her.

As the fair fille de chambre was so near my door, she turned back, and went into the room with me for a moment or two whilst I wrote a card.

It was a fine still evening in the latter end of the month of May-the crimson window-curtains (which were of the same color of those of the bed) were drawn close-the sun was setting, and reflected through them so warm a tint into the fair fille de chambre's face-I thought she blush'd-the idea of it made me blush myself-we were quite alone; and that superinduced a second blush before the first could get off.

There is a sort of a pleasing half guilty blush, where the blood is more in fault than the man-'t is sent impetuous from the heart, and virtue flies after it-not to call it back, but to make the sensation of it more delicious to the nerves-'t is associated.-

But I'll not describe it.-I felt something at first within me which was not in strict unison with the lesson of virtue I had given her the night before.-I sought five minutes for a card-I knew I had not one.-I took up a pen-I laid it down again-my hand trembled-the devil was in me.

I know as well as any one he is an adversary, whom if we resist he will fly from us-but I seldom resist him at all; from a terror that though I may conquer, I may still get a hurt in the combat-so I give up the triumph for security; and instead of thinking to make him fly, I generally fly myself.

The fair fille de chambre came close up to the bureau where I was looking for a card-took up first the pen I cast down, then offer'd to hold me the ink; she offer'd it so sweetly, I was going to accept it-but I durst not.-I have nothing, my dear, said I, to write upon.-Write it, said she, simply, upon anything.-

I was just going to cry out, Then I will write it, fair girl, upon thy lips.-

If I do, said I, I shall perish-so I took her by the hand, and led her to the door, and begg'd she would not forget the lesson I had given her.-She said, indeed she would not-and as she utter'd it with some earnestness, she turn'd about, and gave me both her hands, closed together, into mine-it was impossible not to compress them in that situation-I wish'd to let them go; and all the time I held them, I kept arguing within myself against it-and still I held them on.-In two minutes I found I had all the battle to fight over again-and I felt my legs and every limb about me tremble at the idea.

The foot of the bed was within a yard and a half of the place where we were standing-I had still hold of her hands-and how it happened I can give no account, but I neither ask'd her-nor drew her-nor did I think of the bed-but so it did happen, we both sat down.

I'll just show you, said the fair fille de chambre, the little purse I have been making to-day to hold your crown. So she put her hand into her right pocket, which was next me, and felt for it some time-then into the left-"She had lost it."-I never bore expectation more quietly-it was in her right pocket at last-she pull'd it out; it was of green taffeta, lined with a little bit of white quilted satin, and just big enough to hold the crown-she put it into my hand;-it was pretty; and I held it ten minutes with the back of my hand resting upon her lap-looking sometimes at the purse, sometimes on one side of it.

A stitch or two had broke out in the gathers of my stock-the fair fille de chambre, without saying a word, took out her little hussive, threaded a small needle, and sew'd it up.-I foresaw it would hazard the glory of the day; and as she pass'd her hand in silence across and across my neck in the manoeuver, I felt the laurels shake which fancy had wreath'd about my head.

A strap had given way in her walk, and the buckle of her shoe was just falling off.-See, said the fille de chambre, holding up her foot.-I could not for my soul but fasten the buckle in return, and putting in the strap-and lifting up the other foot with it, when I had done, to see both were right-in doing it too suddenly-it unavoidably threw the fair fille de chambre off her center-and then-