in my place.  On the occasion of that change Madame F told me, with an appearance of regret, that in Venice we could not, for many reasons, continue our intimacy.  I begged her to spare me the reasons, as I foresaw that they would only throw humiliation upon me.  I began to discover that the goddess I had worshipped was, after all, a poor human being like all other women, and to think that I should have been very foolish to give up my life for her.  I probed in one day the real worth of her heart, for she told me, I cannot recollect in reference to what, that I excited her pity.  I saw clearly that she no longer loved me; pity is a debasing feeling which cannot find a home in a heart full of love, for that dreary sentiment is too near a relative of contempt.  Since that time I never found myself alone with Madame F——.  I loved her still; I could easily have made her blush, but I did not do it.

As soon as we reached Venice she became attached to M. F——­ R——­, whom she loved until death took him from her.  She was unhappy enough to lose her sight twenty years after.  I believe she is still alive.

During the last two months of my stay in Corfu, I learned the most bitter and important lessons.  In after years I often derived useful hints from the experience I acquired at that time.

Before my adventure with the worthless Melulla, I enjoyed good health, I was rich, lucky at play, liked by everybody, beloved by the most lovely woman of Corfu.  When I spoke, everybody would listen and admire my wit; my words were taken for oracles, and everyone coincided with me in everything.  After my fatal meeting with the courtezan I rapidly lost my health, my money, my credit; cheerfulness, consideration, wit, everything, even the faculty of eloquence vanished with fortune.  I would talk, but people knew that I was unfortunate, and I no longer interested or convinced my hearers.  The influence I had over Madame F——­ faded away little by little, and, almost without her knowing it, the lovely woman became completely indifferent to me.

I left Corfu without money, although I had sold or pledged everything I had of any value.  Twice I had reached Corfu rich and happy, twice I left it poor and miserable.  But this time I had contracted debts which I have never paid, not through want of will but through carelessness.

Rich and in good health, everyone received me with open arms; poor and looking sick, no one shewed me any consideration.  With a full purse and the tone of a conqueror, I was thought witty, amusing; with an empty purse and a modest air, all I said appeared dull and insipid.  If I had become rich again, how soon I would have been again accounted the eighth wonder of the world!  Oh, men! oh, fortune!  Everyone avoided me as if the ill luck which crushed me down was infectious.