recollection of her _povero_ sub-lieutenant.--She then said, 'Was there
ever such virtue?' (that was her very word) and, being now a widow, gave
him apartments in her palace, reinstated him in all the rights of wrong,
and held him up to the admiring world as a miracle of incontinent fidelity,
and the unshaken Abdiel of absence.

"Methinks this is as pretty a moral tale as any of Marmontel's. Here is
another. The same lady, several years ago, made an escapade with a Swede,
Count Fersen (the same whom the Stockholm mob quartered and lapidated not
very long since), and they arrived at an Osteria, on the road to Rome or
thereabouts. It was a summer evening, and while they were at supper, they
were suddenly regaled by a symphony of fiddles in an adjacent apartment,
so prettily played, that, wishing to hear them more distinctly, the count
rose, and going into the musical society, said--'Gentlemen, I am sure that,
as a company of gallant cavaliers, you will be delighted to show your
skill to a lady, who feels anxious,' &c. &c. The men of harmony were all
acquiescence--every instrument was tuned and toned, and, striking up one
of their most ambrosial airs, the whole band followed the count to the
lady's apartment. At their head was the first fiddler, who, bowing and
fiddling at the same moment, headed his troop, and advanced up the room.
Death and discord!--it was the marquess himself, who was on a serenading
party in the country, while his spouse had run away from town.--The rest
may be imagined; but, first of all, the lady tried to persuade him that
she was there on purpose to meet him, and had chosen this method for an
harmonic surprise. So much for this gossip, which amused me when I heard
it, and I send it to you, in the hope it may have the like effect. Now
we'll return to Venice."

"The day after to-morrow (to-morrow being Christmas-day) the Carnival
begins. I dine with the Countess Albrizzi and a party, and go to the opera.