in the
evening, so as not to give any opportunity to the gossips of the place,
and it was agreed that the meeting, which was to be the last scene of the
drama, should take place the next day towards the evening.

We returned to the count's hostelry for supper, and the excellent man,
fully persuaded that he was indebted to me for his honour as well as for
his daughter's, looked at me with admiration, and spoke to me with
gratitude. Yet he was not sorry to have ascertained himself, and before I
had said so, that I had been the first man who had spoken to her after
landing. Before parting in the evening, M. Barbaro invited them to dinner
for the next day.

I went to my charming mistress very early the following morning, and,
although there was some danger in protracting our interview, we did not
give it a thought, or, if we did, it only caused us to make good use of
the short time that we could still devote to love.

After having enjoyed, until our strength was almost expiring, the most
delightful, the most intense voluptuousness in which mutual ardour can
enfold two young, vigorous, and passionate lovers, the young countess
dressed herself, and, kissing her slippers, said she would never part
with them as long as she lived. I asked her to give me a lock of her
hair, which she did at once. I meant to have it made into a chain like
the one woven with the hair of Madame F----, which I still wore round my
neck.

Towards dusk, the count and his son, M. Dandolo, M. Barbaro, and myself,
proceeded together to the abode of the young countess. The moment she saw
her father, she threw herself on her knees before him, but the count,
bursting into tears, took her in his arms, covered her with kisses, and
breathed over her words of forgiveness, of love and blessing. What a
scene for a man of sensibility! An hour later we escorted the family to
the inn, and, after wishing them a pleasant journey, I went back with my
two friends to M. de Bragadin, to whom I gave a faithful account of what
had taken place.

We thought that they had left Venice, but the next morning they called at
the place in a peotta with six rowers. The count said that they could not
leave the city without seeing us once more; without thanking us again,
and me particularly, for all we had done for them. M. de Bragadin, who
had not seen the young countess before, was struck by her extraordinary
likeness to her brother.

They partook of some refreshments, and embar