ways ready to forgive other men's peccadilloes, and not without
cause. I liked Lambert's line of argument, and told him that we would set
out in five or six days.

Baron Bodisson, a Venetian who wanted to sell the king a picture by
Andrea del Sarto, asked me to come with him to Potsdam and the desire of
seeing the monarch once again made me accept the invitation. When I
reached Potsdam I went to see the parade at which Frederick was nearly
always to be found. When he saw me he came up and asked me in a familiar
manner when I was going to start for St. Petersburg.

"In five or six days, if your majesty has no objection."

"I wish you a pleasant journey; but what do you hope to do in that land?"

"What I hoped to do in this land, namely, to please the sovereign."

"Have you got an introduction to the empress?"

"No, but I have an introduction to a banker."

"Ah! that's much better. If you pass through Prussia on your return I
shall be delighted to hear of your adventures in Russia."

"Farewell, sire."

Such was the second interview I had with this great king, whom I never
saw again.

After I had taken leave of all my friends I applied to Baron Treidel, who
gave me a letter for M. de Kaiserling, lord-chancellor at Mitau, and
another letter for his sister, the Duchess of Courland, and I spent the
last night with the charming Madame Denis. She bought my post-chaise, and
I started with two hundred ducats in my purse. This would have been ample
for the whole journey if I had not been so foolish as to reduce it by
half at a party of pleasure with some young merchants at Dantzic. I was
thus unable to stay a few days at Koenigsberg, though I had a letter to
Field-Marshal von Lewald, who was the governor of the place. I could only
stay one day to dine with this pleasant old soldier, who gave me a letter
for his friend General Woiakoff, the Governor of Riga.

I found I was rich enough to arrive at Mitau in state, and I therefore
took a carriage and six, and reached my destination in three days. At the
inn where I put up I found a Florentine artiste named Bregonei, who
overwhelmed me with caresses, telling me that I had loved her when I was
a boy and wore the cassock. I saw her six years later at Florence, where
she was living with Madame Denis.

The day after my departure from Memel, I was accosted in the open country
by a man whom I recognized as a Jew. He informed me that I was on Polish
territory, and that I must pa