under
some deep sorrow, of which I had no hope to be cured except through the
protection of the Holy Virgin, and the young ones asserted that I was
either melancholy or misanthropic.

My dear wife, who knew better than the others, and had no occasion to
lose herself in suppositions, was much amused, and she entertained me by
sending me a faithful report of it all. I wrote to her that, if she had
any fear of my being recognized I would cease my Sunday visits to the
church. She answered that I could not impose upon her a more cruel
privation, and she entreated me to continue my visits. I thought it would
be prudent, however, to abstain from calling at Laura's house, for fear
of the chattering nuns contriving to know it, and discovering in that
manner a great deal more than I wished them to find out. But that
existence was literally consuming me by slow degrees, and could not last
long. Besides, I was made to have a mistress, and to live happily with
her. Not knowing what to do with myself, I would gamble, and I almost
invariably won; but, in spite of that, weariness had got hold of me and I
was getting thinner every day.

With the five thousand sequins which my partner Croce had won for me in
Padua I had followed M. Bragadin's advice. I had hired a casino where I
held a faro bank in partnership with a matador, who secured me against
the frauds of certain noblemen--tyrants, with whom a private citizen is
always sure to be in the wrong in my dear country.

On All Saints' Day, in the year 1753, just as, after hearing mass, I was
going to step into a gondola to return to Venice, I saw a woman, somewhat
in Laura's style who, passing near me, looked at me and dropped a letter.
I picked it up, and the woman, seeing me in possession of the epistle,
quietly went on. The letter had no address, and the seal represented a
running knot. I stepped hurriedly into the gondola, and as soon as we
were in the offing I broke the seal. I read the following words.

"A nun, who for the last two months and a half has seen you every Sunday
in the church of her convent, wishes to become acquainted with you. A
pamphlet which you have lost, and which chance has thrown into her hands,
makes her believe that you speak French; but, if you like it better, you
can answer in Italian, because what she wants above all is a clear and
precise answer. She does not invite you to call for her at the parlour of
the convent, because, before you place yourself u