glazed and curtained as in the diningroom, but Clairmont came and told me
that he could not unpack my trunks as there were no locks to anything and
should not care to take the responsibility. I thought he was right, and I
went to ask my friend about it.

"There's not a lock or a key," said he, "in the whole castle, except in
the cellar, but everything is safe for all that. There are no robbers at
St. Angelo, and if there were they would not dare to come here."

"I daresay, my dear count, but you know' it is my business to suppose
robbers everywhere. My own valet might take the opportunity of robbing
me, and you see I should have to keep silence if I were robbed."

"Quite so, I feel the force of your argument. Tomorrow morning a
locksmith shall put locks and keys to your doors, and you will be the
only person in the castle who is proof against thieves."

I might have replied in the words of Juvenal, 'Cantabit vacuus coram
latrone viator', but I should have mortified him. I told Clairmont to
leave my trunks alone till next day, and I went out with Count
A---- B---- and his sisters-in-law to take a walk in the town.

Count Ambrose and his better-half stayed in the castle; the good mother
would never leave her nursling. Clementine was eighteen, her married
sister being four years older. She took my arm, and my friend offered his
to Eleanore.

"We will go and see the beautiful penitent," said the count.

I asked him who the beautiful penitent was, and he answered, without
troubling himself about his sisters-in-law,

"She was once a Lais of Milan, and enjoyed such a reputation for beauty
that not only all the flower of Milan but people from the neighbouring
towns were at her feet. Her hall-door was opened and shut a hundred times
in a day, and even then she was not able to satisfy the desires aroused.
At last an end came to what the old and the devout called a scandal.
Count Firmian, a man of learning and wit, went to Vienna, and on his
departure received orders to have her shut up in a convent. Our august
Marie Therese cannot pardon mercenary beauty, and the count had no choice
but to have the fair sinner imprisoned. She was told that she had done
amiss, and dealt wickedly; she was obliged to make a general confession,
and was condemned to a life-long penance in this convent. She was
absolved by Cardinal Pozzobonelli, Archbishop of Milan, and he then
confirmed her, changing the name of Therese, which she had receive