plied that she would let him know in two or
three days if she could do so; but she warned her son that she had only
asked for this delay to give him time to escape, as the bill would
certainly be protested and returned, it being absolutely out of the
question for her to get the money.

"You had better make yourself scarce as soon as you can," said I,
returning him the letter.

"Buy this ring, and so furnish me with the means for my escape. You would
not know that it was not my property if I had not told you so in
confidence."

I made an appointment with him, and had the stone taken out and valued by
one of the best jewellers in Rome.

"I know this stone," said he, "it is worth two thousand Roman crowns."

At four o'clock I took the earl five hundred crowns in gold and fifteen
hundred crowns in paper, which he would have to take to a banker, who
would give him a bill of exchange in Amsterdam.

"I will be off at nightfall," said he, "and travel by myself to
Amsterdam, only taking such effects as are absolutely necessary, and my
beloved blue ribbon."

"A pleasant journey to you," said I, and left him. In ten days I had the
stone mounted at Bologna.

I got a letter of introduction from Cardinal Albani for Onorati, the
nuncio at Florence, and another letter from M. Mengs to Sir Mann, whom he
begged to receive me in his house. I was going to Florence for the sake
of the Corticelli and my dear Therese, and I reckoned on the auditor's
feigning to ignore my return, in spite of his unjust order, especially if
I were residing at the English minister's.

On the second day of Lent the disappearance of Lord Lismore was the talk
of the town. The English tailor was ruined, the Jew who owned the ring
was in despair, and all the silly fellow's servants were turned out of
the house in almost a state of nakedness, as the tailor had
unceremoniously taken possession of everything in the way of clothes that
he could lay his hands on.

Poor Poinsinet came to see me in a pitiable condition; he had only his
shirt and overcoat. He had been despoiled of everything, and threatened
with imprisonment. "I haven't a farthing," said the poor child of the
muses, "I have only the shirt on my back. I know nobody here, and I think
I shall go and throw myself into the Tiber."

He was destined, not to be drowned in the Tiber but in the Guadalquivir.
I calmed him by offering to take him to Florence with me, but I warned
him that I must leave him