I had not seen Madame Manzoni since my return to Venice, and I went to pay her a visit.  I found the worthy woman the same as she had always been towards me, and she gave me the most affectionate welcome.  She told me that Therese Imer, that pretty girl who had caused M. de Malipiero to strike me thirteen years before, had just returned from Bayreuth, where the margrave had made her fortune.  As she lived in the house opposite, Madame Manzoni, who wanted to enjoy her surprise, sent her word to come over.  She came almost immediately, holding by the hand a little boy of eight years—­a lovely child—­and the only one she had given to her husband, who was a dancer in Bayreuth.  Our surprise at seeing one another again was equal to the pleasure we experienced in recollecting what had occurred in our young days; it is true that we had but trifles to recollect.  I congratulated her upon her good fortune, and judging of my position from external appearances, she thought it right to congratulate me, but her fortune would have been established on a firmer basis than mine if she had followed a prudent line of conduct.  She unfortunately indulged in numerous caprices with which my readers will become acquainted.  She was an excellent musician, but her fortune was not altogether owing to her talent; her charms had done more for her than anything else.  She told me her adventures, very likely with some restrictions, and we parted after a conversation of two hours.  She invited me to breakfast for the following day.  She told me that the margrave had her narrowly watched, but being an old acquaintance I was not likely to give rise to any suspicion; that is the aphorism of all women addicted to gallantry.  She added that I could, if I liked, see her that same evening in her box, and that M. Papafava, who was her god-father, would be glad to see me.  I called at her house early the next morning, and I found her in bed with her son, who, thanks to the principles in which he had been educated, got up and left the room as soon as he saw me seated near his mother’s bed.  I spent three hours with her, and I recollect that the last was delightful; the reader will know the consequence of that pleasant hour later.  I saw her a second time during the fortnight she passed in Venice, and when she left I promised to pay her a visit in Bayreuth, but I never kept my promise.

I had at that time to attend to the affairs of my posthumous brother, who had, as he said, a call from Heaven to the priesthood, but he wanted a patrimony.  Although he was ignorant and devoid of any merit save a handsome face, he thought that an ecclesiastical career would insure his happiness, and he depended a great deal upon his preaching, for which, according to the opinion of the women with whom he was acquainted, he had a decided talent.  I took everything into my hands, and I succeeded in obtaining for him a patrimony from M. Grimani, who still owed us the value of the furniture in my father’s house, of which he had