From the first moment of his arrival in Paris, Blanche set herself to plead with me on his behalf; and at such times she even rose to heights of eloquence⁠—saying that it was for me she had abandoned him, though she had almost become his betrothed and promised to become so; that it was for her sake he had deserted his family; that, having been in his service, I ought to remember the fact, and to feel ashamed. To all this I would say nothing, however much she chattered on; until at length I would burst out laughing, and the incident would come to an end (at first, as I have said, she had thought me a fool, but since she had come to deem me a man of sense and sensibility). In short, I had the happiness of calling her better nature into play; for though, at first, I had not deemed her so, she was, in reality, a kindhearted woman after her own fashion. “You are good and clever,” she said to me towards the finish, “and my one regret is that you are also so wrongheaded. You will never be a rich man!”