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Rh I said good-night early, for the ride had made me sleepy. While I was undressing there came a rap at the door, and the maître d'hôtel handed me a tray with a letter addressed in Léontine's hand, which was of the round, English sort.

"Confound the girl," I said to myself, "here's more trouble." I sat down at a little writing desk and opened the letter. There were fathoms and fathoms of it; a regular essay.

She began by telling me that since our meeting at Bagatelle she had been thinking constantly of the step which I had taken, and had decided to write and tell me the result of her reflections. She had also, she said, been analysing the state of her sentiments toward me (I could imagine her doing that as much as I could imagine a small boy analysing the effect of a match held to a heap of loose powder), and she had found that she loved me enough to give me up and to help me in my new resolutions, provided she could manage to persuade herself, or be persuaded, that such an act on my part was rational. So far, however, my reform under the existing conditions impressed her as fore-doomed to failure, and could result only in unhappiness to me and social injury to those who had befriended me. At present, said she, they were enthusiastic over my redemption, while I, for my part, was full of gratitude and good resolutions. But, said Léontine, the leopard cannot change his spots. Once a thief, always a thief. Sooner or later the old instincts are bound to awaken. "As long as all goes smoothly with you," said she, "all right and good. But if ever you should be pressed; if you were to get in any sort of financial