or him to fly to some other
quarter, and thus to avoid the bad turn which his beloved brethren the
monks were certain to do him.

Feeling in duty bound to look after the interests of the wretched fellow,
I went to the Elector's confessor to ask him to give Balbi letters of
introduction to some town in Swabia. The confessor, a Jesuit, did not
give the lie to the fine reputation of his brethren of the order; his
reception of me was as discourteous as it well could be. He told me in a
careless way that at Munich I was well known. I asked him without
flinching if I was to take this as a piece of good or bad news; but he
made no answer, and left me standing. Another priest told me that he had
gone out to verify the truth of a miracle of which the whole town was
talking.

"What miracle is that, reverend father?" I said.

"The empress, the widow of Charles VII, whose body is still exposed to
the public gaze, has warm feet, although she is dead."

"Perhaps something keeps them warm."

"You can assure yourself personally of the truth of this wonderful
circumstance."

To neglect such an opportunity would have been to lose the chance of
mirth or edification, and I was as desirous of the one as of the other.
Wishing to be able to boast that I had seen a miracle--and one, moreover,
of a peculiar interest for myself, who have always had the misfortune to
suffer from cold feet--I went to see the mighty dead. It was quite true
that her feet were warm, but the matter was capable of a simple
explanation, as the feet of her defunct majesty were turned towards a
burning lamp at a little distance off. A dancer of my acquaintance, whom
curiosity had brought there with the rest, came up to me, complimented me
upon my fortunate escape, and told me everybody was talking about it. His
news pleased me, as it is always a good thing to interest the public.
This son of Terpsichore asked me to dinner, and I was glad to accept his
invitation. His name was Michel de l'Agata, and his wife was the pretty
Gandela, whom I had known sixteen years ago at the old Malipiero's. The
Gandela was enchanted to see me, and to hear from my own lips the story
of my wondrous escape. She interested herself on behalf of the monk, and
offered me to give him a letter of introduction for Augsburg Canon Bassi,
of Bologna, who was Dean of St. Maurice's Chapter, and a friend of hers.
I took advantage of the offer, and she forthwith wrote me the letter,
telling me that I