“No, but then he is not yet well provided with linen.”

“I am told that he is very sober.”

“You are joking.  He leaves the table intoxicated twice a day, but he ought to be pitied, for he cannot drink wine and keep his head clear.  Then he swears like a trooper, and we all laugh, but he never takes offence.”

“Is he witty?”

“He has a wonderful memory, for he tells us new stories every day.”

“Does he speak of his family?”

“Very often of his mother, whom he loved tenderly.  She was a Du Plessis.”

“If his mother is still alive she must be a hundred and fifty years old.”

“What nonsense!”

“Not at all; she was married in the days of Marie de Medicis.”

“But the certificate of baptism names the prince’s mother, and his seal—­”

“Does he know what armorial bearings he has on that seal?”

“Do you doubt it?”

“Very strongly, or rather I am certain that he knows nothing about it.”

We left the table, and the prince was announced.  He came in, and Madame Sagredo lost no time in saying to him, “Prince, here is M. Casanova; he pretends that you do not know your own armorial bearings.”  Hearing these words, he came up to me, sneering, called me a coward, and gave me a smack on the face which almost stunned me.  I left the room very slowly, not forgetting my hat and my cane, and went downstairs, while M. D——­ R——­ was loudly ordering the servants to throw the madman out of the window.

I left the palace and went to the esplanade in order to wait for him.  The moment I saw him, I ran to meet him, and I beat him so violently with my cane that one blow alone ought to have killed him.  He drew back, and found himself brought to a stand between two walls, where, to avoid being beaten to death, his only resource was to draw his sword, but the cowardly scoundrel did not even think of his weapon, and I left him, on the ground, covered with blood.  The crowd formed a line for me to pass, and I went to the coffee-house, where I drank a glass of lemonade, without sugar to precipitate the bitter saliva which rage had brought up from my stomach.  In a few minutes, I found myself surrounded by all the young officers of the garrison, who joined in the general opinion that I ought to have killed him, and they at last annoyed me, for it was not my fault if I had not done so, and I would certainly have taken his life if he had drawn his sword.

I had been in the coffee-house for half an hour when the general’s adjutant came to tell me that his excellency ordered me to put myself under arrest on board the bastarda, a galley on which the prisoners had their legs in irons like galley slaves.  The dose was rather too strong to be swallowed, and I did not feel disposed to submit to it.  “Very good, adjutant,” I replied, “it shall be done.”  He went away, and I left the coffee-house a moment after him, but when I reached