“That being my opinion,” I added, “you must admit that as a true friend I was right in advising him against your proposal.  Do you recollect having told me that you never married for the very same reason?  Do you recollect your strong arguments in favour of celibacy while we were at Parma?  Consider also, I beg, that every man has a certain small stock of selfishness, and that I may be allowed to have mine when I think that if M. Dandolo took a wife the influence of that wife would of course have some weight, and that the more she gained in influence over him the more I should lose.  So you see it would not be natural for me to advise him to take a step which would ultimately prove very detrimental to my interests.  If you can prove that my reasons are either trifling or sophistical, speak openly:  I will tell M. Dandolo that my mind has changed; Madame Tripolo will become his wife when we return to Venice.  But let me warn you that thorough conviction can alone move me.”

“I do not believe myself clever enough to convince you.  I shall write to Madame Tripolo that she must apply to you.”

“Do not write anything of the sort to that lady, or she will think that you are laughing at her.  Do you suppose her foolish enough to expect that I will give way to her wishes?  She knows that I do not like her.”

“How can she possibly know that?”

“She must have remarked that I have never cared to accompany M. Dandolo to her house.  Learn from me once for all, that as long as I live with my three friends they shall have no wife but me.  You may get married as soon as you please; I promise not to throw any obstacle in your way; but if you wish to remain on friendly terms with me give up all idea of leading my three friends astray.”

“You are very caustic this morning.”

“I lost all my money last night.

“Then I have chosen a bad time.  Farewell.”

From that day, De la Haye became my secret enemy, and to him I was in a great measure indebted, two years later, for my imprisonment under The Leads of Venice; not owing to his slanders, for I do not believe he was capable of that, Jesuit though he was—­and even amongst such people there is sometimes some honourable feeling—­but through the mystical insinuations which he made in the presence of bigoted persons.  I must give fair notice to my readers that, if they are fond of such people, they must not read these Memoirs, for they belong to a tribe which I have good reason to attack unmercifully.

The fine marriage was never again alluded to.  M. Dandolo continued to visit his beautiful widow every day, and I took care to elicit from Paralis a strong interdiction ever to put my foot in her house.

Don Antonio Croce, a young Milanese whom I had known in Reggio, a confirmed gambler, and a downright clever hand in securing the favours of Dame Fortune, called on me a few minutes after De la Haye had retired.  He told me that, having seen me lose all my money the night before, he had come to offer me the means of retrieving my losses, if I would take an equal interest with him in a faro bank that he meant to hold at his house, and in which he would have as punters seven or eight rich foreigners who were courting his wife.