so many husbands, and yet as young as on the first day of
her creation, a gondolier brought me a letter. It was from M. Giovanni
Grimani, a young nobleman, who, well aware that he had no right to
command me, begged me in the most polite manner to call at his house to
receive a letter which had been entrusted to him for delivery in my own
hands. I went to him immediately, and after the usual compliments he
handed me a letter with a flying seal, which he had received the day
before.

Here are the contents:

"Sir, having made a useless search for my portrait after you left, and
not being in the habit of receiving thieves in my apartment, I feel
satisfied that it must be in your possession. I request you to deliver it
to the person who will hand you this letter.

"FOGLIAZZI."

Happening to have the portrait with me, I took it out of my pocket, and
gave it at once to M. Grimani, who received it with a mixture of
satisfaction and surprise for he had evidently thought that the
commission entrusted to him would be more difficult to fulfil, and he
remarked,

"Love has most likely made a thief of you but I congratulate you, for
your passion cannot be a very ardent one."

"How can you judge of that?"

"From the readiness with which you give up this portrait."

"I would not have given it up so easily to anybody else."

"I thank you; and as a compensation I beg you to accept my friendship."

"I place it in my estimation infinitely above the portrait, and even
above the original. May I ask you to forward my answer?"

"I promise you to send it. Here is some paper, write your letter; you
need not seal it."

I wrote the following words:

"In getting rid of the portrait, Casanova experiences a satisfaction by
far superior to that which he felt when, owing to a stupid fancy, he was
foolish enough to put it in his pocket."

Bad weather having compelled the authorities to postpone the wonderful
wedding until the following Sunday, I accompanied M. de Bragadin, who was
going to Padua. The amiable old man ran away from, the noisy pleasures
which no longer suited his age, and he was going to spend in peace the
few days which the public rejoicings would have rendered unpleasant for
him in Venice. On the following Saturday, after dinner, I bade him
farewell, and got into the post-chaise to return to Venice. If I had left
Padua two minutes sooner or later, the whole course of my life would have
been altered, a