in peace at Venice are those whose existence the Tribunal is ignorant of,
but I obstinately despised all these hints. If I had listened to the
indirect advice which was given me, I should have become anxious, and I
was the sworn foe of all anxiety. I kept saying to myself, "I feel
remorse for nothing and I am therefore guilty of nothing, and the
innocent have nothing to fear." I was a fool, for I argued as if I had
been a free man in a free country. I must also confess that what to a
great extent kept me from thinking of possible misfortune was the actual
misfortune which oppressed me from morning to night. I lost every day, I
owed money everywhere, I had pawned all my jewels, and even my portrait
cases, taking the precaution, however, of removing the portraits, which
with my important papers and my amorous letters I had placed in the hands
of Madame Manzoni. I found myself avoided in society. An old senator told
me, one day, that it was known that the young Countess Bonafede had
become mad in consequence of the love philtres I had given her. She was
still at the asylum, and in her moments of delirium she did nothing but
utter my name with curses. I must let my readers into the secret of this
small history.

This young Countess Bonafede, to whom I had given some sequins a few days
after my return to Venice, thought herself capable of making me continue
my visits, from which she had profited largely. Worried by her letters I
went to see her several times, and always left her a few sequins, but
with the exception of my first visit I was never polite enough to give
her any proofs of my affection. My coldness had baulked all her
endeavours for a year, when she played a criminal part, of which, though
I was never able absolutely to convict her, I had every reason to believe
her guilty.

She wrote me a letter, in which she importuned me to come and see her at