for Her--Her Sister Barberine Takes Her Place.

"How did you make this nice acquaintance?" I asked the ambassador.

"Six months ago," he replied, "while standing at the convent gate with
Mr. Smith, our consul, in whose company I had been to see some ceremony
or other, I remarked to him, as we were talking over some nuns we had
noticed, 'I would gladly give five hundred sequins for a few hours of
Sister M---- M---- s company.' Count Capsucefalo heard what I said, but
made no remark. Mr. Smith answered that one could only see her at the
grating as did the ambassador of France, who often came to visit her.
Capsucefalo called on me the next morning, and said that if I had spoken
in good faith he was sure he could get me a night with the nun in
whatever place I liked, if she could count on my secrecy. 'I have just
been speaking to her,' said he, 'and on my mentioning your name she said
she had noticed you with Mr. Smith, and vowed she would sup with you more
for love than money. 'I,' said the rascal, 'am the only man she trusts,
and I take her to the French ambassador's casino in Venice whenever she
wants to go there. You need not be afraid of being cheated, as you will
give the money to her personally when you have possessed yourself of
her.' With this he took her portrait from his pocket and shewed it me;
and here it is. I bought it of him two days after I believed myself to
have spent a night with the charming nun, and a fortnight after our
conversation. This beauty here came masked in a nun's habit, and I was
fool enough to think I had got a treasure. I am vexed with myself for not
having suspected the cheat--at all events, when I saw her hair, as I know
that nuns' hair should be cut short. But when I said something about it
to the hussy, she told me they were allowed to keep their hair under
their caps, and I was weak enough to believe her."

I knew that on this particular Murray had not been deceived, but I did
not feel compelled to tell him so then and there.

I held the portrait Murray had given me in my hand, and compared it with
the face before me. In the portrait the breast was bare, and as I was
remarking that painters did those parts as best they could, the impudent
wench seized the opportunity to shew me that the miniature was faithful
to nature. I turned my back upon her with an expression of contempt which
would have mortified her, if these creatures were ever capable of shame.
As we talked things over,