was looking at the repulsive
sight in silence, when a great hulking fellow, whose appearance suggested
the blacksmith, and his voice the blackguard, came up to me and asked me
in bad Italian if I would like to dance. I answered in the negative, but
before leaving me he pointed out a Venetian woman who, he said, would
oblige me if I gave her some drink.

Wishing to discover if she was anyone I knew I looked at her attentively,
and seemed to recollect her features, although I could not decide who she
could be. Feeling rather curious on the subject I sat down next to her,
and asked if she came from Venice, and if she had left that country some
time ago.

"Nearly eighteen years," she replied.

I ordered a bottle of wine, and asked if she would take any; she said
yes, and added, if I liked, she would oblige me.

"I haven't time," I said; and I gave the poor wretch the change I
received from the waiter. She was full of gratitude, and would have
embraced me if I had allowed her.

"Do you like being at Amsterdam better than Venice?" I asked.

"Alas, no! for if I were in my own country I should not be following this
dreadful trade."

"How old were you when you left Venice."

"I was only fourteen and lived happily with my father and mother, who now
may have died of grief."

"Who seduced you?"

"A rascally footman."

"In what part of Venice did you live?"

"I did not live in Venice, but at Friuli, not far off."

Friuli . . . eighteen years ago . . . a footman . . . I felt moved, and
looking at the wretched woman more closely I soon recognized in her Lucie
of Pasean. I cannot describe my sorrow, which I concealed as best I
could, and tried hard to keep up my indifferent air. A life of debauchery
rather than the flight of time had tarnished her beauty, and ruined the
once exquisite outlines of her form. Lucie, that innocent and pretty
maiden, grown ugly, vile, a common prostitute! It was a dreadful thought.
She drank like a sailor, without looking at me, and without caring who I
was. I took a few ducats from my purse, and slipped them into her hand,
and without waiting for her to find out how much I had given her I left
that horrible den.

I went to bed full of saddening thoughts. Not even under the Leads did I
pass so wretched a day. I thought I must have risen under some unhappy
star! I loathed myself. With regard to Lucie I felt the sting of remorse,
but at the thought of M. d'O---- I hated myself. I considered