“You have got so thin,” said he, “that uncharitable people will be rather hard on you.”

“I trust they will not say that I have been passing my time with the Jesuits.”

“You are sarcastic.  They may say, perhaps, that you have passed your time in a hot-house under the influence of Mercury.”

“Don’t be afraid, sir, for to escape this hasty judgment I shall go back this evening.”

“No, no, I am quite sure you will not.”

“Believe me, sir,” said I, with a bantering tone, “that I deem your opinion of too much consequence not to be governed by it.”

Seeing that I was in earnest, my friends were angry with him; and the Aristarchus was in some confusion.

Righelini, who was one of Murray’s intimate friends, said to me in a friendly way that he had been longing to tell Murray of my re-appearance, and of the falsity of all the reports about me.

“We will go to sup with him,” said I, “and I will return after supper.”

Seeing that M. de Bragadin and his two friends were uneasy about me, I promised to dine with them on April 25th, St. Mark’s Day.

As soon as Mr. Murray saw me, he fell on my neck and embraced me.  He introduced me to his wife, who asked me to supper with great politeness.  After Murray had told me the innumerable stories which had been made about my disappearance, he asked me if I knew a little story by the Abbe Chiari, which had come out at the end of the carnival.  As I said that I knew nothing about it, he gave me a copy, telling me that I should like it.  He was right.  It was a satire in which the Zorzi clique was pulled to pieces, and in which I played a very poor part.  I did not read it till some time after, and in the mean time put it in my pocket.  After a very good supper I took a gondola to return to Muran.

It was midnight and very dark, so that I did not perceive the gondola to be ill covered and in wretched order.  A fine rain was falling when I got in, and the drops getting larger I was soon wet to the skin.  No great harm was done, as I was close to my quarters.  I groped my way upstairs and knocked at the door of the ante-room, where Tonine, who had not waited for me, was sleeping.  Awake in a moment she came to open the door in her smock, and without a light.  As I wanted one, I told her to get the flint and steel, which she did, warning me in a modest voice that she was not dressed.  “That’s of no consequence,” said I, “provided you are covered.”  She said no more, and soon lighted a candle, but she could not help laughing when she saw me dripping wet.