This was another surprise; I did not know what to expect next. "What can
be the matter?" I said to myself. "I cannot imagine, but I will have an
explanation, or perish."

I dined sadly with Donna Ignazia, without telling her the cause of my
trouble, and just as I was going to take my siesta a servant of Manucci's
brought me a letter from his master and fled before I could read it. The
letter contained an enclosure which I read first. It was from Baron de
Fraiture. He asked Manucci to lend him a hundred pistoles, promising to
shew him the man whom he held for his dearest friend to be his worst
enemy.

Manucci (honouring me, by the way, with the title of ungrateful traitor)
said that the baron's letter had excited his curiosity and he had met
him in St. Jerome's Park, where the baron had clearly proved this enemy
to be myself, since I had informed the baron that though the name of
Manucci was genuine the title of count was quite apocryphal.

After recapitulating the information which Fraiture had given him, and
which could only have proceeded from myself, he advised me to leave
Madrid as soon as possible, in a week at latest.

I can give the reader no idea of the shock this letter gave me. For the
first time in my life I had to confess myself guilty of folly,
ingratitude, and crime. I felt that my fault was beyond forgiveness, and
did not think of asking Manucci to pardon me; I could do nothing but
despair.

Nevertheless, in spite of Manucci's just indignation, I could not help