delivered my letter at the convent of Muran. I gave him all the necessary
instructions, and cautioned him to go away the very moment he had
delivered the letter at the gate of the convent, even if he were told to
wait. I must say here that my messenger was a man from Forli, and that
the Forlanese were then the most trustworthy men in Venice; for one of
them to be guilty of a breach of trust was an unheard-of thing. Such men
were formerly the Savoyards, in Paris; but everything is getting worse in
this world.

I was beginning to forget the adventure, probably because I thought,
rightly or wrongly, that I had put an insurmountable barrier between the
nun and myself, when, ten days after I had sent my letter, as I was
coming out of the opera, I met my messenger, lantern in hand. I called
him, and without taking off my mask I asked him whether he knew me. He
looked at me, eyed me from head to foot, and finally answered that he did
not.

"Did you faithfully carry the message to Muran?"

"Ah, sir! God be praised! I am very happy to see you again, for I have an
important communication to make to you. I took your letter, delivered it
according to your instructions, and I went away as soon as it was in the
hands of the attendant, although she requested me to wait. When I
returned from Muran I did not see you, but that did not matter. On the
following day, one of my companions, who happened to be at the gate of
the convent when I delivered your letter, came early in the morning to
tell me to go to Muran, because the attendant wanted particularly to
speak to me. I went there, and after waiting for a few minutes I was
shewn into the parlour, where I was kept for more than an hour by a nun
as beautiful as the light of day, who asked me a thousand questions for