went fast asleep.  Yet, there were two reasons which kept up the belief of his being a prince:  the first was that he did not seem afraid of the news expected from Venice, where the proveditore had written immediately after the discovery; the second was that he solicited from the bishop the punishment of the priest who had betrayed his secret by violating the seal of confession.  The poor priest had already been sent to prison, and the proveditore had not the courage to defend him.  The new prince had been invited to dinner by all the naval officers, but M. D——­ R——­ had not made up his mind to imitate them so far, because Madame F——­ had clearly warned him that she would dine at her own house on the day he was invited.  I had likewise respectfully intimated that, on the same occasion, I would take the liberty of dining somewhere else.

I met the prince one day as I was coming out of the old fortress leading to the esplanade.  He stopped, and reproached me for not having called upon him.  I laughed, and advised him to think of his safety before the arrival of the news which would expose all the imposture, in which case the proveditore was certain to treat him very severely.  I offered to help him in his flight from Corfu, and to get a Neapolitan captain, whose ship was ready to sail, to conceal him on board; but the fool, instead of accepting my offer, loaded me with insults.

He was courting Madame Sagredo, who treated him very well, feeling proud that a French prince should have given her the preference over all the other ladies.  One day that she was dining in great ceremony at M. D---- R-----’s house, she asked me why I had advised the prince to run away.

“I have it from his own lips,” she added, “and he cannot make out your obstinacy in believing him an impostor.”

“I have given him that advice, madam, because my heart is good, and my judgment sane.”

“Then we are all of us as many fools, the proveditore included?”

“That deduction would not be right, madam.  An opinion contrary to that of another does not necessarily make a fool of the person who entertains it.  It might possibly turn out, in ten or twelve days, that I have been entirely mistaken myself, but I should not consider myself a fool in consequence.  In the mean time, a lady of your intelligence must have discovered whether that man is a peasant or a prince by his education and manners.  For instance, does he dance well?”

“He does not know one step, but he is the first to laugh about it; he says he never would learn dancing.”

“Does he behave well at table?”

“Well, he doesn’t stand on ceremony.  He does not want his plate to be changed, he helps himself with his spoon out of the dishes; he does not know how to check an eructation or a yawn, and if he feels tired he leaves the table.  It is evident that he has been very badly brought up.”

“And yet he is very pleasant, I suppose.  Is he clean and neat?”