When I gave in, the generous Moszczinski embraced me, begged me to write to him, and accept a present of a travelling carriage as a token of his friendship.  He informed me that Madame Binetti’s husband had gone off with his wife’s maid, taking with him her diamonds, jewels, linen, and even her silver plate, leaving her to the tender mercies of the dancer, Pic.  Her admirers had clubbed together to make up to her for what her husband had stolen.  I also heard that the king’s sister had arrived at Warsaw from Bialistock, and it was hoped that her husband would follow her.  This husband was the real Count Branicki, and the Branicki, or rather Branecki, or Bragnecki, who had fought with me, was no relation to him whatever.

The following day I paid my debts, which amounted to about two hundred ducats, and I made preparations for starting for Breslau, the day after, with Count Clary, each of us having his own carriage.  Clary was one of those men to whom lying has become a sort of second nature; whenever such an one opens his mouth, you may safely say to him, “You have lied, or you are going to lie.”  If they could feel their own degradation, they would be much to be pitied, for by their own fault at last no one will believe them even when by chance they speak the truth.  This Count Clary, who was not one of the Clarys of Teplitz, could neither go to his own country nor to Vienna, because he had deserted the army on the eve of a battle.  He was lame, but he walked so adroitly that his defect did not appear.  If this had been the only truth he concealed, it would have been well, for it was a piece of deception that hurt no one.  He died miserably in Venice.

We reached Breslau in perfect safety, and without experiencing any adventures.  Campioni, who had accompanied me as far as Wurtemburg, returned, but rejoined me at Vienna in the course of seven months.  Count Clary had left Breslau, and I thought I would make the acquaintance of the Abbe Bastiani, a celebrated Venetian, whose fortune had been made by the King of Prussia.  He was canon of the cathedral, and received me cordially; in fact, each mutually desired the other’s acquaintance.  He was a fine well-made man, fair-complexioned, and at least six feet high.  He was also witty, learned, eloquent, and gifted with a persuasive voice; his cook was an artist, his library full of choice volumes, and his cellar a very good one.  He was well lodged on the ground floor, and on the first floor he accommodated a lady, of whose children he was very fond, possibly because he was their father.  Although a great admirer of the fair sex, his tastes were by no means exclusive, and he did not despise love of the Greek or philosophic kind.  I could see that he entertained a passion for a young priest whom I met at his table.  This young abbe was Count di Cavalcano and Bastiani seemed to adore him, if fiery glances signified anything; but the innocent young man did not seem to understand,