ave him over to the Tribunal, which put him
once more under the Leads. He did not find Count Asquin there, as the
Tribunal, out of consideration for his great age, had moved him to The
Fours a couple of months after our escape.

Five or six years later, I heard that the Tribunal, after keeping the
unlucky monk for two years under the Leads, had sent him to his convent.
There, his superior fearing lest his flock should take contagion from
this scabby sheep, sent him to their original monastery near Feltre, a
lonely building on a height. However, Balbi did not stop there six
months. Having got the key of the fields, he went to Rome, and threw
himself at the feet of Pope Rezzonico, who absolved him of his sins, and
released him from his monastic vows. Balbi, now a secular priest,
returned to Venice, where he lived a dissolute and wretched life. In 1783
he died the death of Diogenes, minus the wit of the cynic.

At Strassburg I rejoined Madame Riviere and her delightful family, from
whom I received a sincere and hearty welcome. We were staying at the
"Hotel de l'Esprit," and we passed a few days there most pleasurably,
afterwards setting out in an excellent travelling carriage for Paris the
Only, Paris the Universal. During the journey I thought myself bound to
the expense of making it a pleasant one, as I had not to put my hand in
my pocket for other expenses. The charms of Mdlle. Riviere enchanted me,
but I should have esteemed myself wanting in gratitude and respect to
this worthy family if I had darted at her a single amorous glance, or if
I had let her suspect my feelings for her by a single word. In fact I
thought myself obliged to play the heavy father, though my age did not
fit me for the part, and I lavished on this agreeable family all the care
which can be given in return for pleasant society, a seat in a
comfortable travelling carriage, an excellent table, and a good bed.

We reached Paris on the 5th of January, 1757, and I went to the house of
my friend Baletti, who received me with open arms, and assured me that
though I had not written he had been expecting me, since he judged that I
would strive to put the greatest possible distance between myself and
Venice, and he could think of no other retreat for me than Paris. The
whole house kept holiday when my arrival became known, and I have never
met with more sincere regard than in that delightful family. I greeted
with enthusiasm the father and mother, whom I f