"Alas, no! for if I were in my own country I should not be following this
dreadful trade."

"How old were you when you left Venice."

"I was only fourteen and lived happily with my father and mother, who now
may have died of grief."

"Who seduced you?"

"A rascally footman."

"In what part of Venice did you live?"

"I did not live in Venice, but at Friuli, not far off."

Friuli . . . eighteen years ago . . . a footman . . . I felt moved, and
looking at the wretched woman more closely I soon recognized in her Lucie
of Pasean. I cannot describe my sorrow, which I concealed as best I
could, and tried hard to keep up my indifferent air. A life of debauchery
rather than the flight of time had tarnished her beauty, and ruined the
once exquisite outlines of her form. Lucie, that innocent and pretty
maiden, grown ugly, vile, a common prostitute! It was a dreadful thought.
She drank like a sailor, without looking at me, and without caring who I
was. I took a few ducats from my purse, and slipped them into her hand,
and without waiting for her to find out how much I had given her I left
that horrible den.

I went to bed full of saddening thoughts. Not even under the Leads did I