17th of January, the _Droghe d'Amore_ was given
again, as strict orders from the Government made necessary. I kept away
from the theatre, and passed my time at S. Gio. Grisostomo, where I
heard, to my vexation, that S. Salvatore was thronged with spectators.
However, I contented myself with thinking that this was the last night
of the notorious comedy.

When my servant came to call me next morning, he volunteered this
information, much to my astonishment: "Your comedy, sir, is going to be
played again to-night at S. Salvatore." "How do you know that?" I asked.
"I read the posters just now set up at the Rialto."

While putting on my clothes in haste to see if this had not been some
blunder of the bill-stickers, I was interrupted by the visit of two
friends, the patrician Paolo Balbi and Signor Raffaelle Todeschini, a
young cittadino of the highest probity. They came to congratulate me on
the repetition of my play, which had been called for last evening by an
overwhelming and irresistible vote of the audience. On hearing this
news, which admitted of no doubt, I felt the blood freeze in my veins.

"You do not know," I said to Signor Balbi, "what sort of fish are
stewing in my kettle. I gave my word yesterday that the play should not
be repeated. How was I to imagine that my blameless reputation would
have to suffer by an actor's breach of faith?" My friends tried to
comfort me and soothe me down, while I, oblivious of all the laws of
politeness, kept fastening my shoe-buckles, washing my hands, and
busying myself about my toilet. I was desperately impatient to get out,
and do the utmost in my power to remedy the mischief.

This was my one thought, as the above-named gentlemen can bear me
witness, when a new turn was given to affairs by a fresh act of Signor
Gratarol's imprudence and vindictive rancour. My servant entered and
announced that a footman was waiting outside with a letter which he had
orders to deliver into my own hands. I left my room, and found the man
there at the top of the staircase. He handed me the letter, and stood
waiting for my answer. I saw at a glance, before I opened it, from whom
it came, broke the seal, and read the following missive:[71]

"SIR COUNT--Pursuant to the arguments I maintained in your house
two mornings ago, the playbill published yesterday entitles me to
say that in the whole course of my life I have never met with
hypocrisy and imposture equal to yours; and