t if you had understood my position at Madrid you would
never have obliged me to take a course which gave me great pain."

"I do not understand you."

"I dare say not. You must know, then, that I was strongly suspected of
being a Protestant; and if I had shewn myself indifferent to your
conduct, I might possibly have been ruined. But dine with me tomorrow; we
will make up a party of friends, and discuss our quarrel in a good bottle
of wine. I know that you do not receive your brother, so he shall not be
there. Indeed, I do not receive him myself, for if I did all honest
people would give me the cold shoulder."

I accepted his friendly invitation, and was punctual to the appointment.

My brother left Rome a short time afterwards with Prince Beloselski, the
Russian ambassador to Dresden, with whom he had come; but his visit was
unsuccessful, as Rezzonico proved inexorable. We only saw each other two
or three times at Rome.

Three or four days after he had gone I had the agreeable surprise of
seeing my brother the priest, in rags as usual. He had the impudence to
ask me to help him.

"Where do you come from?"

"From Venice; I had to leave the place, as I could no longer make a
living there."

"Then how do you think of making a living at Rome?"

"By saying masses and teaching French."

"You a teacher of languages! Why, you do not know your native tongue."

"I know Italian and French too, and I have already got two pupils."

"They will no doubt make wonderful progress under your fostering care.
Who are they?"

"The son and daughter of the inn-keeper, at whose house I am staying. But
that's not enough to keep me, and you must give me something while I am
starting."

"You have no right to count on me. Leave the room."

I would not listen to another word, and told Margarita to see that he did
not come in again.

The wretched fellow did his best to ruin me with all my friends,
including the Duchess of Fiano and the Abbe Gama. Everybody told me that
I should either give him some help, or get him out of Rome; I got
heartily sick of the sound of his name. At last the Abbe Ceruti came and
told me that if I did not want to see my brother begging his bread in the
streets I must give him some assistance.

"You can keep him out of Rome," he said, "and he is ready to go if you
will allow him three pauls a day." I consented, and Ceruti hit on a plan
which pleased me very much. He spoke to a priest who served a convent