self the only representative of her sex in
this distinguished company, and also that there were no Frenchmen
present.

"Then you don't like the French," said M. Memmo.

"I like them well enough so far as I know them, but I am only acquainted
with their exterior, as I don't speak or understand the language."

After this everybody knew how to take her, and the gaiety became general.

She answered all questions to the point, and entertained the company with
her remarks on French manners, so different to Venetian customs.

In the course of dinner M. Querini asked how she had known him, and she
replied that she had often seen him at Divine service, whereat the
devotee seemed greatly flattered. M. Morosini, pretending not to know
that she was to return to Venice, told her that unless she made haste to
acquire French, the universal language, she would find London very
tedious, as the Italian language was very little known there.

"I hope," she replied, "that M. de Seingalt will not bring me into the
society of people with whom I cannot exchange ideas. I know I shall never
be able to learn French."

When we had left the table the ambassadors begged me to tell the story of
my escape from The Leads, and I was glad to oblige them. My story lasted
for two whole hours; and as it was noticed that Marcoline's eyes became
wet with tears when I came to speak of my great danger. She was rallied
upon the circumstance, and told that nieces were not usually so
emotional.

"That may be, gentlemen," she replied, "though I do not see why a niece
should not love her uncle. But I have never loved anyone else but the
hero of the tale, and I cannot see what difference there can be between
one kind of love and another."

"There are five kinds of love known to man," said M. Querini. "The love
of one's neighbour, the love of God, which is beyond compare, the highest
of all, love matrimonial, the love of house and home, and the love of
self, which ought to come last of all, though many place it in the first
rank."

The nobleman commented briefly on these diverse kinds of love, but when
he came to the love of God he began to soar, and I was greatly astonished
to see Marcoline shedding tears, which she wiped away hastily as if to
hide them from the sight of the worthy old man whom wine had made more
theological than usual. Feigning to be enthusiastic, Marcoline took his
hand and kissed it, while he in his vain exaltation drew her towards him