As soon as his silly embraces were over, I coldly asked him what chance had brought him to Genoa in this disgusting state of dirt, rags, and tatters.  He was only twenty-nine, his complexion was fresh and healthy, and he had a splendid head of hair.  He was a posthumous son, born like Mahomet, three months after the death of his father.

“The story of my misfortunes would be only too long.  Take me into your room, and I will sit down and tell you the whole story.”

“First of all, answer my questions.  How long have you been here?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Who told you that I was here?”

“Count B——­, at Milan.”

“Who told you that the count knew me?”

“I found out by chance.  I was at M. de Bragadin’s a month ago, and on his table I saw a letter from the count to you.”

“Did you tell him you were my brother?”

“I had to when he said how much I resembled you.”

“He made a mistake, for you are a blockhead.”

“He did not think so, at all events, for he asked me to dinner.”

“You must have cut a pretty figure, if you were in your present state.”

“He gave me four sequins to come here; otherwise, I should never have been able to do the journey.”

“Then he did a very foolish thing.  You’re a mere beggar, then; you take alms.  Why did you leave Venice?  What do you want with me?  I can do nothing for you.”

“Ah! do not make me despair, or I shall kill myself.”

“That’s the very best thing you could do; but you are too great a coward.  I ask again why you left Venice, where you could say mass, and preach, and make an honest living, like many priests much better than you?”

“That is the kernel of the whole matter.  Let us go in and I will tell you.”

“No; wait for me here.  We will go somewhere where you can tell me your story, if I have patience to listen to it.  But don’t tell any of my people that you are my brother, for I am ashamed to have such a relation.  Come, take me to the place where you are staying.”

“I must tell you that at my inn I am not alone, and I want to have a private interview with you.”

“Who is with you?”

“I will tell you presently, but let us go into a coffeehouse.”

“Are you in company with a band of brigands?  What are you sighing at?”

“I must confess it, however painful it may be to my feelings.  I am with a woman.”

“A woman! and you a priest!”

“Forgive me.  I was blinded by love, and seduced by my senses and her beauty, so I seduced her under a promise to marry her at Geneva.  I can never go back to Venice, for I took her away from her father’s house.”

“What could you do at Geneva?  They would expel you after you had been there three or four days.  Come, we will go to the inn and see the woman you have deceived.  I will speak to you afterwards.”