“Branicki, my dear uncle, is dangerous wounded.  My surgeons are doing all they can for him, but I have not forgotten Casanova.  You may assure him that he is pardoned, even if Branicki should die.”

I kissed the letter gratefully, and shewed it to my visitors, who lauded this generous man truly worthy of being a king.

After this pleasant news I felt in need of rest, and my lords left me.  As soon as they were gone, Campioni, who had come in before and had stood in the background, came up to me and gave me back the packet of papers, and with tears of joy congratulated me on the happy issue of the duel.

Next day I had shoals of visitors, and many of the chiefs of the party opposed to Branicki sent me purses full of gold.  The persons who brought the money on behalf of such a lord or lady, said that being a foreigner I might be in need of money, and that was their excuse for the liberty they had taken.  I thanked and refused them all, and sent back at least four thousand ducats, and was very proud of having done so.  Campioni thought it was absurd, and he was right, for I repented afterwards of what I had done.  The only present I accepted was a dinner for four persons, which Prince Adam Czartoryski sent me in every day, though the doctor would not let me enjoy it, he being a great believer in diet.

The wound in my stomach was progressing favourably, but on the fourth day the surgeons said my hand was becoming gangrened, and they agreed that the only remedy was amputation.  I saw this announced in the Court Gazette the next morning, but as I had other views on the matter I laughed heartily at the paragraph.  The sheet was printed at night, after the king had placed his initials to the copy.  In the morning several persons came to condole with me, but I received their sympathy with great irreverence.  I merely laughed at Count Clary, who said I would surely submit to the operation; and just as he uttered the words the three surgeons came in together.

“Well, gentlemen,” said I, “you have mustered in great strength; why is this?”

My ordinary surgeon replied that he wished to have the opinion of the other two before proceeding to amputation, and they would require to look at the wound.

The dressing was lifted and gangrene was declared to be undoubtedly present, and execution was ordered that evening.  The butchers gave me the news with radiant faces, and assured me I need not be afraid as the operation would certainly prove efficacious.

“Gentlemen,” I replied, “you seem to have a great many solid scientific reasons for cutting off my hand; but one thing you have not got, and that is my consent.  My hand is my own, and I am going to keep it.”

“Sir, it is certainly gangrened; by to-morrow the arm will begin to mortify, and then you will have to lose your arm.”

“Very good; if that prove so you shall cut off my arm, but I happen to know something of gangrene, and there is none about me.”