either from the air, the water, or the wine--for men of science have not
made up their minds on the subject persons who live at Bologna are
subject to a slight itch. The Bolognese, however, far from finding this
unpleasant, seem to think it an advantage; it gives them the pleasure of
scratching themselves. In springtime the ladies distinguish themselves by
the grace with which they use their fingers.

Towards mid-Lent I left the Corticelli, wishing her a pleasant journey,
for she was going to fulfil a year's engagement at Prague as second
dancer. I promised to fetch her and her mother to Paris, and my readers
will see how I kept my word.

I got to Modena the evening after I left Bologna, and I stopped there,
with one of those sudden whims to which I have always been subject. Next
morning I went out to see the pictures, and as I was returning to my
lodging for dinner a blackguardly-looking fellow came up and ordered me,
on the part of the Government, to continue my journey on the day
following at latest.

"Very good," said I, and the fellow went away.

"Who is that man?" I said to the landlord.
"A SPY."

"A spy; and the Government dares to send such a fellow to me?"

"The 'borgello' must have sent him."

"Then the 'borgello' is the Governor of Modena--the infamous wretch!"