"Ah! then you are a good friend to France, as your republic is under
French protection."

At these words my ill-temper boiled aver, and, in the tone of voice one
uses to put down a puppy, I replied that the Republic of Venice was
strong enough to do without the protection of France or of any other
power, and that during the thirteen centuries of its existence it had had
many friends and allies but no protectors. "Perhaps," I ended, "you will
reply by begging my pardon for not knowing that these was only one Venice
in the world."

I had no sooner said this than a burst of laughter from the whole table
set me right again. The young blockhead seemed taken aback and in his
turn bit his lips, but his evil genius made him, strike in again at
dessert. As usual the conversation went from one subject to another, and
we began to talk about the Duke of Albermarle. The Englishmen spoke in
his favour, and said that if he had been alive there would have been no
war between England and France; they were probably right, but even if the
duke had lived war might have broken out, as the two nations in question
have never yet succeeded in understanding that it is for both their
interests to live at peace together. Another Englishman praised Lolotte,
his mistress. I said I had seen that charming woman at the Duchess of
Fulvi's, and that no one deserved better to become the Countess of
Eronville. The Count of Eronville, a lieutenant-general and a man of
letters, had just married her.

I had scarcely finished what I had to say when Master Blockhead said,
with a laugh, that he knew Lolotte to be a good sort of girl, as he had
slept with her at Paris. I could restrain myself no longer; my
indignation and rage consumed me. I took up my plate, and made as if I