As to the noble lord’s mistress, there was but one opinion respecting her.  She was fit in every way to become his wife, and the highest families of France did not think that she needed the title of Lady Albemarle to be received with distinction; no lady considered it debasing to sit near her, although she was well known as the mistress of the English lord.  She had passed from her mother’s arms to those of Lord Albemarle at the age of thirteen, and her conduct was always of the highest respectability.  She bore children whom the ambassador acknowledged legally, and she died Countess d’Erouville.  I shall have to mention her again in my Memoirs.

I had likewise occasion to become acquainted at the Venetian Embassy with a lady from Venice, the widow of an English baronet named Wynne.  She was then coming from London with her children, where she had been compelled to go in order to insure them the inheritance of their late father, which they would have lost if they had not declared themselves members of the Church of England.  She was on her way back to Venice, much pleased with her journey.  She was accompanied by her eldest daughter—­a young girl of twelve years, who, notwithstanding her youth, carried on her beautiful face all the signs of perfection.

She is now living in Venice, the widow of Count de Rosenberg, who died in Venice ambassador of the Empress-Queen Maria Theresa.  She is surrounded by the brilliant halo of her excellent conduct and of all her social virtues.  No one can accuse her of any fault, except that of being poor, but she feels it only because it does not allow her to be as charitable as she might wish.

The reader will see in the next chapter how I managed to embroil myself with the French police.

CHAPTER VIII

My Broil With Parisian Justice—­Mdlle.  Vesian

The youngest daughter of my landlady, Mdlle.  Quinson, a young girl between fifteen and sixteen years of age, was in the habit of often coming to my room without being called.  It was not long before I discovered that she was in love with me, and I should have thought myself ridiculous if I had been cruel to a young brunette who was piquant, lively, amiable, and had a most delightful voice.

During the first four or five months nothing but childish trifles took place between us; but one night, coming home very late and finding her fast asleep on my bed, I did not see the necessity of waking her up, and undressing myself I lay down beside her....  She left me at daybreak.

Mimi had not been gone three hours when a milliner came with a charming young girl, to invite herself and her friend to breakfast; I thought the young girl well worth a breakfast, but I was tired and wanted rest, and I begged them both to withdraw.  Soon after they had left me, Madame Quinson came with her daughter to make my bed.  I put my dressing-gown on, and began to write.