Virginia was pleased to be very mysterious on the subject of our marriage, keeping me in the Sagrestia for three or four days, visiting me only to give me food and such news as she cared to impart.  She told me, for instance, that Professor Lanfranchi had undoubtedly arrived in Florence, and that he was staying with Aurelia at the Villa San Giorgio.  As to our own affair, she said that everything was in good train.  She had found a church and a priest in the Ghetto; she would need a little money—­not very much—­and promised, directly the coast was clear, to get me over to that safe quarter.  To be done with this part of my history, so she did, and was made mine in the church of Sant’ Andrea on October 24, 1724, three years, almost to a day, since my arrival in Padua in 1721.  I took her back to a mean lodging in that meanest part of Florence, and spent three days with her there alone.  I then wrote to my father, as I felt bound in duty to do—­fully, unreservedly, with candour and, I hope, modesty.  I wrote to Father Carnesecchi, to Professor Lanfranchi.  Such money as I could consider mine by right I converted into cash; the rest, which I thought to be my father’s—­being that share of my monthly allowance which I had received after I had decided to disobey him—­I returned by bills of exchange to his London bankers.  I believe that, on the day of my departure from Florence, I stood up possessed of some fifty guineas—­no great capital upon which a man and his young wife could begin the world.  Nor had I any great idea how I should increase or husband my little store.  But I was young, zealous, proud.  I believed in myself, I loved Virginia.  In a word, as always happened to me, I looked studiously forward, and was happy.  As for her, she hardly touched the ground with her feet when she walked.  You never saw so radiant a creature.

We left the Ghetto at a good hour of the morning, intending for Lucca; but at the gate of San Frediano a difficulty about post-horses bade fair to detain us for a day in very unfortunate publicity.  The man of whom we had bespoken them met us there with despair upon his face.  He was vexed, he was harrowed, his nicest feelings of honour were wounded—­at least he said that they were.  The horses had been fed and watered; he was about to put them to, when an order which he dared not disobey had supervened.  No less was this than a precept from the Pratica Segreta that the horses were to be put at the disposition of the Cavaliere Aquamorta, of whom the State was most anxious to be rid.  Had it been anything under a Government order, said he, he would have laughed in the bearer’s face.  Not even the Grand Duke could make an honest man break his word, &c. &c.; but I could see he was helpless.  I saw nothing so clearly as that I was.  I expostulated, offered more money than I could afford.  Virginia stormed.  All to no purpose.  I was for walking, and was about to command Virginia to accompany me, when who should appear but my gentleman himself, the Cavaliere Aquamorta, inquiring the cause of the uproar.  He presented a truly magnificent appearance in that squalid place.