Early on the eighth day the count left the fortress, and I took my departure the same evening, having made an appointment at a coffee-house in St. Mark’s Square with the major who was to accompany me to M. Grimani’s house.  I took leave of his wife, whose memory will always be dear to me, and she said, “I thank you for your skill in proving your alibi, but you have also to thank me for having understood you so well.  My husband never heard anything about it until it was all over.”

As soon as I reached Venice, I went to pay a visit to Madame Orio, where I was made welcome.  I remained to supper, and my two charming sweethearts who were praying for the death of the bishop, gave me the most delightful hospitality for the night.

At noon the next day I met the major according to our appointment, and we called upon the Abbe Grimani.  He received me with the air of a guilty man begging for mercy, and I was astounded at his stupidity when he entreated me to forgive Razetta and his companion.  He told me that the bishop was expected very soon, and that he had ordered a room to be ready for me, and that I could take my meals with him.  Then he introduced me to M. Valavero, a man of talent, who had just left the ministry of war, his term of office having lasted the usual six months.  I paid my duty to him, and we kept up a kind of desultory conversation until the departure of the major.  When he had left us M. Valavero entreated me to confess that I had been the guilty party in the attack upon Razetta.  I candidly told him that the thrashing had been my handiwork, and I gave him all the particulars, which amused him immensely.  He remarked that, as I had perpetrated the affair before midnight, the fools had made a mistake in their accusation; but that, after all, the mistake had not materially helped me in proving the alibi, because my sprained ankle, which everybody had supposed a real accident, would of itself have been sufficient.

But I trust that my kind reader has not forgotten that I had a very heavy weight upon my conscience, of which I longed to get rid.  I had to see the goddess of my fancy, to obtain my pardon, or die at her feet.

I found the house without difficulty; the count was not at home.  The countess received me very kindly, but her appearance caused me so great a surprise that I did not know what to say to her.  I had fancied that I was going to visit an angel, that I would find her in a lovely paradise, and I found myself in a large sitting-room furnished with four rickety chairs and a dirty old table.  There was hardly any light in the room because the shutters were nearly closed.  It might have been a precaution against the heat, but I judged that it was more probably for the purpose of concealing the windows, the glass of which was all broken.  But this visible darkness did not prevent me from remarking that the countess was wrapped up in an old tattered gown, and that her chemise did not shine by its cleanliness.  Seeing that I was ill at ease, she left the room, saying that she would send her daughter, who, a few minutes afterwards, came in with an easy and noble appearance, and told me that she had expected me with great impatience, but that I had surprised her at a time at which she was not in the habit of receiving any visits.