The young doctor, himself one of the academicians, introduced me to his family.  His parents, who were in easy circumstances, received me very kindly.  One of his sisters was very amiable, but the other, a professed nun, appeared to me a prodigy of beauty.  I might have enjoyed myself in a very agreeable way in the midst of that charming family during my stay in Chiozza, but I suppose that it was my destiny to meet in that place with nothing but sorrows.  The young doctor forewarned me that the monk Corsini was a very worthless fellow, despised by everybody, and advised me to avoid him.  I thanked him for the information, but my thoughtlessness prevented me from profiting by it.  Of a very easy disposition, and too giddy to fear any snares, I was foolish enough to believe that the monk would, on the contrary, be the very man to throw plenty of amusement in my way.

On the third day the worthless dog took me to a house of ill-fame, where I might have gone without his introduction, and, in order to shew my mettle, I obliged a low creature whose ugliness ought to have been a sufficient antidote against any fleshly desire.  On leaving the place, he brought me for supper to an inn where we met four scoundrels of his own stamp.  After supper one of them began a bank of faro, and I was invited to join in the game.  I gave way to that feeling of false pride which so often causes the ruin of young men, and after losing four sequins I expressed a wish to retire, but my honest friend, the Jacobin contrived to make me risk four more sequins in partnership with him.  He held the bank, and it was broken.  I did not wish to play any more, but Corsini, feigning to pity me and to feel great sorrow at being the cause of my loss, induced me to try myself a bank of twenty-five sequins; my bank was likewise broken.  The hope of winning back my money made me keep up the game, and I lost everything I had.

Deeply grieved, I went away and laid myself down near the cook, who woke up and said I was a libertine.

“You are right,” was all I could answer.

I was worn out with fatigue and sorrow, and I slept soundly.  My vile tormentor, the monk, woke me at noon, and informed me with a triumphant joy that a very rich young man had been invited by his friends to supper, that he would be sure to play and to lose, and that it would be a good opportunity for me to retrieve my losses.

“I have lost all my money.  Lend me twenty sequins.”

“When I lend money I am sure to lose; you may call it superstition, but I have tried it too often.  Try to find money somewhere else, and come.  Farewell.”