About three o’clock two elderly women arrived, to whom the Lambertini eagerly introduced Count “Six-times.”  In great astonishment they enquired the origin of his title, and the heroine of the story having whispered it to them, my friend became an object of interest.

“I can’t believe it,” said one of these ladies, ogling the count, while his face seemed to say,

“Would you like to try?”

Shortly after, a coach stopped at the door, and a fat woman of middle-aged appearance and a very pretty girl were ushered in; after them came a pale man in a black suit and a long wig.  After greeting them in a manner which implied intimacy, the Pope’s niece introduced her cousin Count “Six-strokes”.  The elderly woman seemed to be astonished at such a name, but the Lambertini gave no explanation.  Nevertheless, people seemed to think it rather curious that a man who did not know a word of French should be living in Paris, and that in spite of his ignorance he continued to jabber away in an easy manner, though nobody could understand what he was talking about.

After some foolish conversation, the Pope’s niece proposed a game at Loo.  She asked me to play but on my refusing did not make a point of it, but she insisted on her cousin being her partner.

“He knows nothing about cards,” said she; “but that’s no matter, he will learn, and I will undertake to instruct him.”

As the girl, by whose beauty I was struck, did not understand the game, I offered her a seat by the fire, asking her to grant me the honour of keeping her company, whereupon the elderly woman who had brought her began to laugh, and said I should have some difficulty in getting her niece to talk about anything, adding, in a polite manner, that she hoped I would be lenient with her as she had only just left a convent.  I assured her that I should have no difficulty in amusing myself with one so amiable, and the game having begun I took up my position near the pretty niece.

I had been near her for several minutes, and solely occupied in mute admiration of her beauty, when she asked me who was that handsome gentleman who talked so oddly.

“He is a nobleman, and a fellow-countryman of mine, whom an affair of honour has banished from his country.”

“He speaks a curious dialect.”

“Yes, but the fact is that French is very little spoken in Italy; he will soon pick it up in Paris, and then he will be laughed at no longer.  I am sorry to have brought him here, for in less than twenty-four hours he was spoiled.”

“How spoiled?”

“I daren’t tell you as, perhaps, your aunt would not like it.”

“I don’t think I should tell her, but, perhaps, I should not have asked.”

“Oh, yes! you should; and as you wish to know I will make no mystery of it.  Madame Lambertini took a fancy to him; they passed the night together, and in token of the satisfaction he gave her she has given him the ridiculous nickname of ‘Count Sixtimes.’  That’s all.  I am vexed about it, as my friend was no profligate.”