me if I knew the banker; Celi had heard the
question; I answered negatively. A lady on my left told me that the
banker was Count Alfani. Half an hour later, Madame Querini went seven
and lost, she increased her stake of ten sequins; it was the last deal of
the game, and therefore the decisive one. I rose from my chair, and fixed
my eyes on the banker's hands. But in spite of that, he cheated before
me, and Madame lost.

Just at that moment the general offered her his arm to go to supper; she
left the remainder of her gold on the table, and after supper, having
played again, she lost every sequin.

I enlivened the supper by my stories and witty jests. I captivated
everybody's friendship, and particularly the general's, who, having heard
me say that I was going to Naples only to gratify an amorous fancy,
entreated me to spend a month with him and to sacrifice my whim. But it
was all in vain. My heart was unoccupied; I longed to see Lucrezia and
Therese, whose charms after five years I could scarcely recollect. I only
consented to remain in Cesena the four days during which the general
intended to stay.

The next morning as I was dressing I had a call from the cowardly
Alfani-Celi; I received him with a jeering smile, saying that I had
expected him.

The hair-dresser being in the room Celi did not answer, but as soon as we
were alone he said,

"How could you possibly expect my visit?"

"I will tell you my reason as soon as you have handed me one hundred
sequins, and you are going to do so at once.'

"Here are fifty which I brought for you; you cannot demand more from me."

"Thank you, I take them on account, but as I am good-natured I advise you
not to shew yourself this evening in Count Spada's drawing-rooms, for you
would not be admitted, and it would be owing to me."

"I hope that you will think twice before you are guilty of such an
ungenerous act."

"I have made up my mind; but now leave me."

There was a knock at my door, and the self-styled Count Alfani went away
without giving me the trouble of repeating my order. My new visitor
proved to be the first castrato of the theatre, who brought an invitation
to dinner from Narici. The invitation was curious, and I accepted it with
a smile. The castrato was named Nicolas Peritti; he pretended to be the
grandson of a natural child of Sixtus V.; it might have been so I shall
have to mention him again in fifteen years.

When I made my appearance at Narici's hou