if no opportunity of doing so arose, to create an opportunity. At least,
this is the way in which affairs of this kind are usually managed, and I
can find no better explanation for what happened. Nevertheless, the way
in which the Pole took vengeance was very original and extraordinary.

On the 20th of February Branicki went to the opera, and, contrary to his
custom, went to the Catai's dressing-room, and began to pay his court to
the actress, Tomatis being present. Both he and the actress concluded
that Branicki had had a quarrel with her rival, and though she did not
much care to place him in the number of her adorers, she yet gave him a
good reception, for she knew it would be dangerous to despise his suit
openly.

When the Catai had completed her toilet, the gallant postoli offered her
his arm to take her to her carriage, which was at the door. Tomatis
followed, and I too was there, awaiting my carriage. Madame Catai came
down, the carriage-door was opened, she stepped in, and Branicki got in
after her, telling the astonished Tomatis to follow them in the other
carriage. Tomatis replied that he meant to ride in his own carriage, and
begged the colonel to get out. Branicki paid no attention, and told the
coachman to drive on. Tornatis forbade him to stir, and the man, of
course, obeyed his master. The gallant postcili was therefore obliged to
get down, but he bade his hussar give Tomatis a box on the ear, and this
order was so promptly and vigorously obeyed that the unfortunate man was
on the ground before he had time to recollect that he had a sword. He got
up eventually and drove off, but he could eat no supper, no doubt because
he had a blow to digest. I was to have supped with him, but after this
scene I had really not the face to go. I went home in a melancholy and
reflective mood, wondering whether the whole had been concerted; but I
concluded that this was impossible, as neither Branicki nor Binetti could