contained myself, though if a noble Venetian were to
insult me in a foreign country he would have to give me satisfaction."

I called on Prince Moszczinski, and Madame Binetti happened to be there;
the moment she saw me she made her escape.

"What has she against me?" I asked the count.

"She is afraid of you, because she was the cause of the duel, and now
Branicki who was her lover will have nothing more to say to her. She
hoped he would serve you as he served Tomatis, and instead of that you
almost killed her bravo. She lays the fault on him for having accepted
your challenge, but he has resolved to have done with her."

This Count Moszczinski was both good-hearted and quick-witted, and so,
generous that he ruined himself by making presents. His wounds were
beginning to heal, but though I was the indirect cause of his mishap, far
from bearing malice against me he had become my friend.

The person whom I should have expected to be most grateful to me for the
duel was Tomatis, but on the contrary he hated the sight of me and hardly
concealed his feelings. I was the living reproach of his cowardice; my
wounded hand seemed to shew him that he had loved his money more than his
honour. I am sure he would have preferred Branicki to have killed me, for
then he would have become an object of general execration, and Tomatis
would have been received with less contempt in the great houses he still
frequented.

I resolved to pay a visit to the discontented party who had only
recognized the new king on compulsion, and some of whom had not
recognized him at all; so I set out with my true friend Campioni and one
servant.

Prince Charles of Courland had started for Venice, where I had given him
letters for my illustrious friends who would make his visit a pleasant
one. The English ambassador who had given me an introduction to Prince
Adam had just arrived at Warsaw. I dined with him at the prince's house,
and the king signified his wish to be of the party. I heard a good deal
of conversation about Madame de Geoffrin, an old sweetheart of the king's
whom he had just summoned to Warsaw. The Polish monarch, of whom I cannot
speak in too favourable terms, was yet weak enough to listen to the
slanderous reports against me, and refused to make my fortune. I had the
pleasure of convincing him that he was mistaken, but I will speak of this
later on.

I arrived at Leopol the sixth day after I had left Warsaw, having stopped
a couple