"

"Twenty-five sequins."

"That will do nicely. When I have done the trick I shall put on my great
coat again and return by the back door. If necessary Costa himself will
be able to swear that I did not leave the house, and that therefore I
cannot have committed the assault. However, I shall put my pistols in my
pocket in case of accidents, and if anybody tries to arrest me I shall
know how to defend myself."

Next morning he came coolly into my room while Costa was putting on my
dressing-gown, and when we were alone he said,--

"The thing's done. Instead of the Jew's running away when he received the
first blow he threw himself on to the ground. Then I tanned his skin for
him nicely, but on hearing some people coming up I ran off. I don't know
whether I did for him, but I gave him two sturdy blows on the head. I
should be sorry if he were killed, as then he could not see about the
dance."

This jest did not arouse my mirth; the matter promised to be too serious.

Therese had asked me to dine with the Abbe Gama and M. Sassi, a worthy
man, if one may prostitute the name of man to describe a being whom
cruelty has separated from the rest of humanity; he was the first
castrato of the opera. Of course the Jew's mishap was discussed.

"I am sorry for him," said I, "though he is a rascally fellow."

"I am not at all sorry for him myself," said Sassi, "he's a knave."

"I daresay that everybody will be putting down his wooden baptism to my
account."

"No," said the abbe, "people say that M. Casanova did the deed for good
reasons of his own."

"It will be difficult to pitch on the right man," I answered, "the rascal
has pushed so many worthy people to extremities that he must have a great
many thrashings owing him."

The conversation then passed to other topics, and we had a very pleasant
dinner.

In a few days the Jew left his bed with a large plaster on his nose, and
although I was generally regarded as the author of his misfortune the
matter was gradually allowed to drop, as there were only vague suspicions
to go upon. But the Corticelli, in an ecstasy of joy, was stupid enough
to talk as if she were sure it was I who had avenged her, and she got
into a rage when I would not admit the deed; but, as may be guessed, I
was not foolish enough to do so, as her imprudence might have been a
hanging matter for me.

I was well enough amused at Florence, and had no thoughts of leaving,
when one day Vannini gave me a