On the eve of our departure we took leave of the newly-married couple and the whole family at supper, and we parted with tears, promising each other a lifelong friendship.

The next day we set out intending to travel all night and not to stop till we got to Avignon, but about five o’clock the chain of the carriage broke, and we could go no further until a wheelwright had repaired the damage.  We settled ourselves down to wait patiently, and Clairmont went to get information at a fine house on our right, which was approached by an alley of trees.  As I had only one postillion, I did not allow him to leave his horses for a moment.  Before long we saw Clairmont reappear with two servants, one of whom invited me, on behalf of his master, to await the arrival of the wheelwright at his house.  It would have been churlish to refuse this invitation which was in the true spirit of French politeness, so leaving Clairmont in charge Marcoline and I began to wend our way towards the hospitable abode.

Three ladies and two gentleman came to meet us, and one of the gentlemen said they congratulated themselves on my small mishap, since it enabled madam to offer me her house and hospitality.  I turned towards the lady whom the gentleman had indicated, and thanked her, saying, that I hoped not to trouble her long, but that I was deeply grateful for her kindness.  She made me a graceful curtsy, but I could not make out her features, for a stormy wind was blowing, and she and her two friends had drawn their hoods almost entirely over their faces.  Marcoline’s beautiful head was uncovered and her hair streaming in the breeze.  She only replied by graceful bows and smiles to the compliments which were addressed to her on all sides.  The gentleman who had first accosted me asked me, as he gave her his arm, if she were my daughter.  Marcoline smiled and I answered that she was my cousin, and that we were both Venetians.

A Frenchman is so bent on flattering a pretty woman that he will always do so, even if it be at the expense of a third party.  Nobody could really think that Marcoline was my daughter, for though I was twenty years older than she was, I looked ten years younger than my real age, and so Marcoline smiled suggestively.

We were just going into the house when a large mastiff ran towards us, chasing a pretty spaniel, and the lady, being afraid of getting bitten, began to run, made a false step, and fell to the ground.  We ran to help her, but she said she had sprained her ankle, and limped into the house on the arm of one of the gentlemen.  Refreshments were brought in, and I saw that Marcoline looked uneasy in the company of a lady who was talking to her.  I hastened to excuse her, saying that she did not speak French.  As a matter of fact, Marcoline had begun to talk a sort of French, but the most charming language in the world will not bear being spoken badly, and I had begged her not to speak at all till she had learned to express herself properly.  It is better to remain silent than to make strangers laugh by odd expressions and absurd equivocations.