could be done.

I threw off my seminarist's habit, and dressed myself in the clothes I
used to wear in Venice, and, while my luggage was carried to a boat, I
accompanied the abbe to M. Grimani's gondola in which he had come, and we
took our departure. On our way, the abbe ordered the boatman to leave my
things at the Palace Grimani, adding that he was instructed by M. Grimani
to tell me that, if I had the audacity to present myself at his mansion,
his servants had received orders to turn me away.

He landed me near the convent of the Jesuits, without any money, and with
nothing but what I had on my back.

I went to beg a dinner from Madame Manzoni, who laughed heartily at the
realization of her prediction. After dinner I called upon M. Rosa to see
whether the law could protect me against the tyranny of my enemies, and
after he had been made acquainted with the circumstances of the case, he
promised to bring me the same evening, at Madame Orio's house, an
extra-judicial act. I repaired to the place of appointment to wait for
him, and to enjoy the pleasure of my two charming friends at my sudden
reappearance. It was indeed very great, and the recital of my adventures
did not astonish them less than my unexpected presence. M. Rosa came and
made me read the act which he had prepared; he had not had time to have
it engrossed by the notary, but he undertook to have it ready the next
day.

I left Madame Orio to take supper with my brother Francois, who resided
with a painter called Guardi; he was, like me, much oppressed by the
tyranny of Grimani, and I promised to deliver him. Towards midnight I
returned to the two amiable sisters who were expecting me with their
usual loving impatience, but, I am bound to confess it with all humility,
my sorrows were prejudicial to love in spite of the fortnight of absence
and of abstinence. They were themselves deeply affected to see me so
unhappy, and pitied me with all their hearts. I endeavoured to console
them, and assured them that all my misery would soon come to an end, and
that we would make up for lost time.

In the morning, having no money, and not knowing where to go, I went to
St. Mark's Library, where I remained until noon. I left it with the
intention of dining with Madame Manzoni, but I was suddenly accosted by a
soldier who informed me that someone wanted to speak to me in a gondola
to which he pointed. I answered that the person might as well come out,
but he quietly