r find an opportunity.
Some years after I heard that the wretch died in miserable poverty in
Genoa.

I was curious at the time to know what had become of him, as it was
important for me to be on my guard. I confided my curiosity to my
landlord, and he instructed one of the servants to make enquiries. I only
heard the following circumstance:

Ascanio Pogomas, or Passano, had been released at the end of November,
and had then been embarked on a felucca bound for Toulon.

The same day I wrote a long and grateful letter to M. Grimaldi. I had
indeed reason to be grateful, for if he had listened to my enemy he might
have reduced me to a state of dreadful misery.

My landlord had taken the box at the opera in my name, and two hours
afterwards, to everyone's great astonishment, the posters announcing the
plays of the evening were covered by bills informing the public that two
of the performers had been taken ill, that the play would not be given,
and the theatre closed till the second day of the new year.

This order undoubtedly came from the viceroy, and everybody knew the
reason.

I was sorry to have deprived the people of Barcelona of the only
amusement they had in the evening, and resolved to stay indoors, thinking
that would be the most dignified course I could adopt.

Petrarch says,--

'Amor che fa gentile un cor villano'.

If he had known the lover of Nina he would have changed the line into

'Amor che fa villan un cor gentile'.

In four months I shall be able to throw some more light on this strange
business.

I should have left Barcelona the same day, but a slight tinge of
superstition made me desire to leave on the last day of the unhappy year
I had spent in Spain. I therefore spent my three days of grace in writing
letters to all my friends.

Don Miguel de Cevallos, Don Diego de la Secada, and the Comte de la
Peralada came to see me, but separately. Don Diego de la Secada was the
uncle of the Countess A---- B---- whom I had met at Milan. These gentlemen
told me a tale as strange as any of the circumstances which had happened
to me at Barcelona.

On the 26th of December the Abbe Marquisio, the envoy of the Duke of
Modena, asked the viceroy, before a considerable number of people, if he
could pay me a visit, to give me a letter which he could place in no
hands but mine. If not he said he should be obliged to take the letter to
Madrid, for which town he was obliged to set out the next day.

The count