I found the great man alone, looking perfectly calm. This made me pluck
up a heart. He asked me to sit down--a favour he had not hitherto done
me, and this further contributed to cheer me.

"What have you been doing to offend your ambassador?" he began.

"My lord, I have done nothing to him directly, but by an inexcusable act
of stupidity I have wounded his dear friend Manucci in his tenderest
part. With the most innocent intentions I reposed my confidence in a
cowardly fellow, who sold it to Manucci for a hundred pistoles. In his
irritation, Manucci has stirred up the great man against me: 'hinc illae
lacrimae'."

"You have been unwise, but what is done is done. I am sorry for you,
because there is an end to all your hopes of advancement. The first thing
the king would do would be to make enquiries about you of the
ambassador."

"I feel it to my sorrow, my lord, but must I leave Madrid?"

"No. The ambassador did his best to make me send you way, but I told him
that I had no power over you so long as you did not infringe the laws."

"'He has calumniated a Venetian subject whom I am bound to protect,' said
he.

"'In that case,' I replied, 'you can resort to the ordinary law, and
punish him to the best of your ability.'"

"The ambassador finally begged me to order you not to mention the matter
to any Venetian subjects at Madrid, and I think you can safely promise me
this."

"My lord, I have much pleasure in giving your excellency my word of
honour not to do so."

"Very good. Then you can stay at Madrid as long as you please; and,
indeed, Mocenigo will be leaving in the course of a week."

From that moment I made up my mind to amuse myself without any thought of
obtaining a position in Spain. However, the ties of friendship made me
keep up my acquaintance with Varnier, the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and the
architect, Sabatini, who always gave me a warm welcome, as did his wife.

Donna Ignazia had more of my company than ever, and congratulated me on
my freedom from the cares of business.

After the departure of Mocenigo I thought I would go and see if Querini,
his nephew, was equally prejudiced against me. The porter told me that he
had received orders not to admit me, and I laughed in the man's face.

Six or seven weeks after Manucci's departure I, too, left Madrid. I did
so on compulsion, in spite of my love for Ignazia, for I had no longer
hopes of doing anything in Portugal, and my purse was nearly exha