ed to live alone in
his house in Venice, and two years ago he told me that he was in want of
a housekeeper. He asked me to let my daughter go to him in that capacity,
assuring me that in Venice she would have good opportunities of getting
married. He offered to give me a deed in writing stating that, on the day
of her marriage, he would give her all his furniture valued at about one
thousand ducats, and the inheritance of a small estate, bringing one
hundred ducats a year, which lie possesses here. It seemed to me a good
bargain, and, my daughter being pleased with the offer, I accepted. He
gave me the deed duly drawn by a notary, and my daughter went with him. I
know that he makes a regular slave of her, but she chose to go.
Nevertheless, I need not tell you that my most ardent wish is to see her
married, for, as long as a girl is without a husband, she is too much
exposed to temptation, and the poor mother cannot rest in peace."

"Then come to Venice with me. You will take your daughter out of the
abbe's house, and I will make her my wife. Unless that is done I cannot
marry her, for I should dishonour myself if I received my wife from his
hands."

"Oh, no! for he is my cousin, although only in the fourth degree, and,
what is more, he is a priest and says the mass every day."

"You make me laugh, my good woman. Everybody knows that a priest says the
mass without depriving himself of certain trifling enjoyments. Take your
daughter with you, or give up all hope of ever seeing her married."

"But if I take her with me, he will not give her his furniture, and
perhaps he will sell his small estate here."

"I undertake to look to that part of the business. I promise to take her
out of his hands, and to make her come back to you with all the
furniture, and to obtain the estate when she is my wife. If you knew me
better, you would not doubt what I say. Come to Venice, and I assure you
that you shall return here in four or five days with your daughter."

She read the letter which had been written to me by her daughter again,
and told me that, being a poor widow, she had not the money necessary to
pay the expenses of her journey to Venice, or of her return to Louisa.

"In Venice you shall not want for anything," I said; "in the mean time,
here are ten sequins."

"Ten sequins! Then I can go with my sister-in-law?"

"Come with anyone you like, but let us go soon so as to reach Chiozza,
where we must sleep. To-morrow we sh