nation promised me
some delicious moments with her. I spent an anxious and impatient night,
and called on my Amphitryon at an early hour to have an opportunity of
speaking to his dear companion. I found her alone, and began with an
ardent caress which she gently repelled, but her face froze my passion in
its course.

"Time is an excellent doctor," said she, "and it has cured me of a
passion which left behind it the sting of remorse."

"What! The confessional . . . ."

"Should only serve as a place wherein to confess our sins of the past,
and to implore grace to sin no more."

"May the Lord save me from repentance, the only source of which is a
prejudice! I shall leave Cologne to-morrow."

"I do not tell you to go."

"If there is no hope, it is no place for me. May I hope?"

"Never."

She was delightful at table, but I was gloomy and distracted. At seven
o'clock next day I set out, and as soon as I had passed the Aix la
Chapelle Gate, I told the postillion to stop and wait for me. I then
walked to Jacquet's, armed with a pistol and a cane, though I only meant
to beat him.

The servant shewed me into the room where he was working by himself. It
was on the ground floor, and the door was open for coolness' sake.

He heard me coming in and asked what he could do for me.

"You scoundrelly journalist." I replied, "I am the adventurer Casanova
whom you slandered in your miserable sheet four months ago."

So saying I directed my pistol at his head, with my left hand, and lifted
my cane with my right. But the wretched scribbler fell on his knees
before me with clasped hands and offered to shew me the signed letter he
had received from Warsaw, which contained the statements he had inserted
in his paper.

"Where is this letter?"

"You shall have it in a moment."

I made way for him to search, but I locked and bolted the door to prevent
his escaping. The man trembled like a leaf and began to look for the
letter amongst his Warsaw correspondence, which was in a disgraceful
state of confusion. I shewed him the date of the article in the paper,
but the letter could not be found; and at the end of an hour he fell down
again on his knees, and told me to do what I would to him. I gave him a
kick and told him to get up and follow me. He made no reply, and followed
me bareheaded till he saw me get into my chaise and drive off, and I have
no doubt he gave thanks to God for his light escape. In the evening, I
reached Aix-l