Amongst the ladies, the most noteworthy was the wife of the merchant,
David Riguelin, who was a Swabian by birth.

Pittoni was in love with her and continued so till her death. His suit
lasted for twelve years, and like Petrarch, he still sighed, still hoped,
but never succeeded. Her name was Zanetta, and besides her beauty she had
the charm of being an exquisite singer and a polished hostess. Still more
noteworthy, however, was the unvarying sweetness and equability of her
disposition.

I did not want to know her long before recognizing that she was
absolutely impregnable. I told Pittoni so, but all in vain; he still fed
on empty hope.

Zanetta had very poor health, though no one would have judged so from her
appearance, but it was well known to be the case. She died at an early
age.

A few days after M. Zaguri's departure, I had a note from the consul
informing me that the Procurator Morosini was stopping in my inn, and
advising me to call on him if I knew him.

I was infinitely obliged for this advice, for M. Morosini was a personage
of the greatest importance. He had known me from childhood, and the
reader may remember that he had presented me to Marshal Richelieu, at
Fontainebleau, in 1750.

I dressed myself as if I had been about to speak to a monarch, and sent
in a note to his room.