never rendered any account.  He transferred to him a life-interest in a house in Venice, and two years afterwards my brother was ordained.  But the patrimony was only fictitious, the house being already mortgaged; the Abbe Grimani was, however, a kind Jesuit, and those sainted servants of God think that all is well that ends well and profitably to themselves.  I shall speak again of my unhappy brother whose destiny became involved with mine.

Two days had passed since I had paid my visit to P——­ C——­, when I met him in the street.  He told me that his sister was constantly speaking of me, that she quoted a great many things which I had told her, and that his mother was much pleased at her daughter having made my acquaintance.  “She would be a good match for you,” he added, “for she will have a dowry of ten thousand ducats.  If you will call on me to-morrow, we will take coffee with my mother and sister.”

I had promised myself never again to enter his house, but I broke my word.  It is easy enough for a man to forget his promises under such circumstances.

I spent three hours in conversation with the charming girl and when I left her I was deeply in love.  As I went away, I told her that I envied the destiny of the man who would have her for his wife, and my compliment, the first she had ever received, made her blush.

After I had left her I began to examine the nature of my feelings towards her, and they frightened me, for I could neither behave towards Mdlle.  C——­ C——­ as an honest man nor as a libertine.  I could not hope to obtain her hand, and I almost fancied I would stab anyone who advised me to seduce her.  I felt that I wanted some diversion:  I went to the gaming-table.  Playing is sometimes an excellent lenitive to calm the mind, and to smother the ardent fire of love.  I played with wonderful luck, and I was going home with plenty of gold, when in a solitary narrow street I met a man bent down less by age than by the heavy weight of misery.  As I came near him I recognized Count Bonafede, the sight of whom moved me with pity.  He recognized me likewise.  We talked for some time, and at last he told me the state of abject poverty to which he was reduced, and the great difficulty he had to keep his numerous family.  “I do not blush,” he added, “in begging from you one sequin which will keep us alive for five or six days.”  I immediately gave him ten, trying to prevent him from lowering himself in his anxiety to express his gratitude, but I could not prevent him from shedding tears.  As we parted, he told me that what made him most miserable was to see the position of his daughter, who had become a great beauty, and would rather die than make a sacrifice of her virtue.  “I can neither support her in those feelings,” he said, with a sigh, “nor reward her for them.”