fashion had scattered in her way, and, having sacrificed every personal
feeling for the gratification of her vanity, she now sought to build a
gaudy, transient fabric on the destruction of another. In addition to
her persuasions, her husband, Angelo Albanesi, constantly made the world
of gallantry the subject of his conversation. Whole evenings has he
sitten in our apartment, telling long stories of intrigue, praising the
liberality of one nobleman, the romantic chivalry of another, the
sacrifice which a third had made to an adored object, and the splendid
income which a fourth would bestow on any young lady of education and
mental endowments who would accept his protection, and be the partner of
his fortune. I always smiled at Albanesi's innuendoes; and I still found
some amusement in his society, when he thought fit to divest his
conversation of his favourite topic. This Italian, though neither young
nor even tolerably well-looking, was uncommonly entertaining; he could
sing, likewise imitate various musical instruments, was an excellent
buffoon, and a very neat engraver; some of his plates were executed
under the inspection of Sherwin, and he was considered as a very
promising artist.

Were I to describe one-half of what I suffered during fifteen months'
captivity, the world would consider it as the invention of a novel. But
Mr. Robinson knows what I endured, and how patiently, how correctly I
suited my mind to the strict propriety of wedded life; he knows that my
duty as a wife was exemplary, my chastity inviolate; he knows that
neither poverty nor obscurity, neither the tauntings of the world, nor
his neglect, could tempt me even to the smallest error; he knows that I
bore my afflicting humiliations with a cheerful, uncomplaining spirit;
that I toiled honourably for his comfort; and that my attentions were
exclusively dedicated to him and to my infant.