If the count’s story had surprised me, the simplicity with which he told it had given me pleasure; and I was resolved to do honour to Madame Manzoni’s introduction, feeling that it was my duty to serve a fellow-countryman, who was really guilty of nothing worse than gross thoughtlessness.

“Begin,” said I, “by bringing your small belongings to the room next to mine, and get your meals there.  I will pay for everything while I am looking out for something which may do for you.

“We will talk of business to-morrow, for as I never dine here I rarely if ever come home till late, and I do not expect to have the honour of seeing you again today.  Leave me for the present, as I have got some work to do; and if you go out to walk, beware of bad company, and whatever you do keep your own counsel.  You are fond of gaming, I suppose?”

“I hate it, as it has been the cause of half my troubles.”

“And the other half, I’ll wager, was caused by women.”

“You have guessed aright—­oh, those women!”

“Well, don’t be angry with them, but make them pay for the ill they have done you.”

“I will, with the greatest pleasure, if I can.”

“If you are not too particular in your goods, you will find Paris rich in such commodities.”

“What do you mean by particular?  I would never be a prince’s pathic.”

“No, no, I was not thinking of that.  I mean by ‘particular’ a man who cannot be affectionate unless he is in love.  The man who . . . .”

“I see what you mean, and I can lay no claim to such a character.  Any hag with golden eyes will always find me as affectionate as a Celadon.”

“Well said!  I shall soon be able to arrange matters for you.”

“I hope you will.”

“Are you going to the ambassador’s?”

“Good God!—­no!  What should I do when I got there?  Tell him my story?  He might make things unpleasant for me.”

“Not without your going to see him, but I expect he is not concerning himself with your case.”

“That’s all I ask him.”

“Everybody, my dear count, is in mourning in Paris, so go to my tailor’s and get yourself a black suit.  Tell him you come from me, and say you want it by tomorrow.  Good bye.”

I went out soon after, and did not come back till midnight.  I found the box which Madame Manzoni had sent me in my room, and in it my manuscripts and my beloved portraits, for I never pawned a snuff-box without taking the portrait out.

Next day Tiretta made his appearance all in black, and thanked me for his transformation.

“They are quick, you see, at Paris.  It would have taken a week at Trevisa.”

“Trevisa, my dear fellow, is not Paris.”

As I said this, the Abbe de la Coste was announced.  I did not know the name, but I gave orders for him to be admitted; and there presently appeared the same little priest with whom I had dined at Versailles after leaving the Abbe de la Ville.