"My dear wife," said the crafty tailor, "I don't see everything, nor is
it necessary that I should do so, but you should have accompanied the
gentleman to his room."

Then turning to me with a laugh, he asked me how I had enjoyed the
wedding.

"Immensely, and my friends have done the same; but you must let me pay
you, dear gossip, for what you spent over and above the twenty-four
sequins. You can tell me how much it is."

"Very little, a mere trifle; Zenobia shall bring you the bill."

I went home feeling vexed with myself for not having foreseen that the
rogue would notice my change of dress, and guess the reason. However, I
consoled myself with the thought that the tailor was no fool, and that it
was plain that he was content to play the part we had assigned to him. So
after wishing good night to the count, the countess and the marquis, who
all thanked me for the happy day they had spent, I went to bed.

As soon as I was awake, I thought of the shepherdess who had danced the
'forlana' so well at the ball, and I resolved to pay her a visit. I was
not more interested in her beauty than to find out who her father and
mother, "old friends of mine," could be. I dressed and walked to the
"Three Kings," and on walking into the room which the shepherdess had
indicated to me, what was my astonishment to find myself face to face
with the Countess Rinaldi, whom Zavoisky had introduced me to at the
'locanda' of Castelletto sixteen years ago. The reader will remember how
M. de Bragadin paid her husband the money he won from me at play.