e has played on you; she must have found out you
were in London."

"She saw me through the window."

"Why did you delay putting your project into execution?"

"I meant to carry it out this morning, but how was I to know that she had
debts?"

"Nor has she any debts; these bills are shams. They must have been
ante-dated, for they were really executed yesterday. It's a bad business,
and she may have to pay dearly for it."

"But in the meanwhile I am in prison."

"Never mind, trust to me, I will see you again tomorrow."

This scurvy trick had made me angry, and I made up my mind to take up the
poor man's cause. I went to Bosanquet, who told me that the device was a
very common one in London, but that people had found out the way to
defeat it. Finally, he said that if the prisoner interested me he would
put the case into the hands of a barrister who would extricate him from
his difficulty, and make the wife and the lover, who had probably helped
her, repent of their day's work. I begged him to act as if my interests
were at stake, and promised to guarantee all expenses.

"That's enough," said he; "don't trouble yourself any more about it."

Same days after Mr. Bosanquet came to tell me that Constantini had left
the prison and England as well, according to what the barrister who had
charge of the case told him.

"Impossible!"

"Not at all. The lover of his wife, foreseeing the storm that was about
to burst over their heads, got round the fellow, and made him leave the
country by means of a sum more or less large."

The affair was over, but it was soon in all the newspapers, garnished
with all the wit imaginable, and Giardini was warmly praised for the
action he had taken.

As for me I was glad enough to have the matter over, but I felt vexed
with Constantini for having fled without giving the lovers a lesson. I
wrote an account of the circumstances to Baletti, and I heard from Madame
Binetti that the Calori had given her husband a hundred guineas to leave
the country. Some years later I saw the Calori at Prague.

A Flemish officer, the man whom I had helped at Aix-la-Chapelle, had
called on me several times, and had even dined three or four times with
me. I reproached myself for not having been polite enough to return his
call, and when we met in the street, and he reproached me for not having
been to see him, I was obliged to blush. He had his wife and daughter
with him, and some feeling of shame and a good