“‘In that case,’ I replied, ’you can resort to the ordinary law, and punish him to the best of your ability.’”

“The ambassador finally begged me to order you not to mention the matter to any Venetian subjects at Madrid, and I think you can safely promise me this.”

“My lord, I have much pleasure in giving your excellency my word of honour not to do so.”

“Very good.  Then you can stay at Madrid as long as you please; and, indeed, Mocenigo will be leaving in the course of a week.”

From that moment I made up my mind to amuse myself without any thought of obtaining a position in Spain.  However, the ties of friendship made me keep up my acquaintance with Varnier, the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and the architect, Sabatini, who always gave me a warm welcome, as did his wife.

Donna Ignazia had more of my company than ever, and congratulated me on my freedom from the cares of business.

After the departure of Mocenigo I thought I would go and see if Querini, his nephew, was equally prejudiced against me.  The porter told me that he had received orders not to admit me, and I laughed in the man’s face.

Six or seven weeks after Manucci’s departure I, too, left Madrid.  I did so on compulsion, in spite of my love for Ignazia, for I had no longer hopes of doing anything in Portugal, and my purse was nearly exhausted.

I thought of selling a handsome repeater and a gold snuff-box so as to enable me to go to Marseilles, whence I thought of going to Constantinople and trying my fortune there without turning renegade.  Doubtless, I should have found the plan unsuccessful, for I was attaining an age when Fortune flies.  I had no reason, however, to complain of Fortune, for she had been lavish in her gifts to me, and I in my turn had always abused them.

In my state of distress the learned Abbe Pinzi introduced me to a Genoese bookseller, named Carrado, a thoroughly honest man, who seemed to have been created that the knavery of most of the Genoese might be pardoned.  To him I brought my watch and snuff-box, but the worthy Carrado not only refused to buy them, but would not take them in pledge.  He gave me seventeen hundred francs with no other security than my word that I would repay him if I were ever able to do so.  Unhappily I have never been able to repay this debt, unless my gratitude be accounted repayment.

As nothing is sweeter than the companionship between a man and the woman he adores, so nothing is bitterer than the separation; the pleasure has vanished away, and only the pain remains.

I spent my last days at Madrid drinking the cup of pleasure which was embittered by the thought of the pain that was to follow.  The worthy Diego was sad at the thought of losing me, and could with difficulty refrain from tears.

For some time my man Philippe continued to give me news of Donna Ignazia.  She became the bride of a rich shoemaker, though her father was extremely mortified by her making a marriage so much beneath her station.