can wear a mask, to compel my relations to give me what they owe me; but
they put me off from one day to another, as they are sure I shall be
obliged to go when Lent begins."

"And will you do so?"

"I shall be obliged to, but as you will not come and see me, give me
twenty sequins, which will enable me to leave Milan. My cousin owes me
ten thousand livres, and will not pay me a tenth even. I will kill him
before I go."

"I haven't a farthing, and that mask of yours has made me lose a thousand
sequins, which I do not know how to pay.

"I know. I am an unlucky man, and bring bad luck to all my friends. It
was I who told her to give you a card, in the hope that it would change
the run against you."

"Is she a Milanese girl?"

"No, she comes from Marseilles, and is the daughter of a rich agent. I
fell in love with her, seduced her, and carried her off to her
unhappiness. I had plenty of money then, but, wretch that I am, I lost it
all at Genoa, where I had to sell all my possessions to enable me to come
here. I have been a week in Milan. Pray give me the wherewithal to
escape."

I was touched with compassion, and I borrowed twenty sequins from Canano,
and gave them to the poor wretch, telling him to write to me.

This alms-giving did me good; it made me forget my losses, and I spent a
delightful evening with the marchioness.

The next day we supped together at my rooms, and spent the rest of the
night in amorous pleasures. It was the Saturday, the last day of the
carnival at Milan, and I spent the whole of the Sunday in bed, for the
marchioness had exhausted me, and I knew that a long sleep would restore
my strength.

Early on Monday morning Clairmont brought me a letter which had been left
by a servant. It had no signature, and ran as follows:

"Have compassion, sir, on the most wretched creature breathing. M. de la
Croix has gone away in despair. He has left me here in the inn, where he
has paid for nothing. Good God! what will become of me? I conjure you to
come and see me, be it only to give me your advice."

I did not hesitate for a moment, and it was not from any impulses of love
or profligacy that I went, but from pure compassion. I put on my great
coat, and in the same room in which I had seen Irene I saw a young and
pretty girl, about whose face there was something peculiarly noble and
attractive. I saw in her innocence and modesty oppressed and persecuted.
As soon as I came in she humbly apologize