ve given her to you. You must know that she has six
thousand francs a year, and that I shall be her cashier till I get her
married to a good dancer. I want her to learn character dancing, and to
make her appearance on the boards. You must take her out on holidays."

"What shall I say if people ask me who she is?"

"Say she is your daughter, and that you are certain, because your wife
gave her to you."

"I can't see that."

"Ah, you have always stayed at home, and consequently your wits are
homely."

I heard this curious dialogue which made me laugh then, and makes me
laugh now as I write it. I offered to help in Adelaide's education, but
Madame Soavi laughed, and said,--

"Fox, you have deceived so many tender pullets, that I don't like to
trust you with this one, for fear of your making her too precocious."

"I did not think of that, but you are right."

Adelaide became the wonder of Bologna.

A year after I left the Comte du Barri, brother-in-law of the famous
mistress of Louis XV., visited Bologna, and became so amorous of Adelaide
that her mother sent her away, fearing he would carry her off.

Du Barri offered her a hundred thousand francs for the girl, but she
refused the offer.

I saw Adelaide five years later on the boards of a Venetian theatre. When
I went to congratulate her, she said,--

"My mother brought me into the world, and I think she will send me out of
it; this dancing is killing me."

In point of fact this delicate flower faded and died after seven years of
the severe life to which her mother had exposed her.

Madame Soavi who had not taken the precaution to settle the six thousand
francs on herself, lost all in losing Adelaide, and died miserably after
having rolled in riches. But, alas! I am not the man to reproach anyone
on the score of imprudence.

At Bologna I met the famous Afflisio, who had been discharged from the
imperial service and had turned manager. He went from bad to worse, and
five or six years later committed forgery, was sent to the galleys, and
there died.

I was also impressed by the example of a man of a good family, who had
once been rich. This was Count Filomarino. He was living in great misery,
deprived of the use of all his limbs by a succession of venereal
complaints. I often went to see him to give him a few pieces of money,
and to listen to his malevolent talk, for his tongue was the only member
that continued active. He was a scoundrel and a slanderer,