the bill
of the play announcing four performances of the Didone of Metastasio at
the Spada. Seeing no acquaintance of mine among the actors or actresses,
I made up my mind to go to the play in the evening, and to start early
the next day with post-horses. A remnant of my fear of the Inquisition
urged me on, and I could not help fancying that spies were at my heels.

Before entering the house I went into the actresses dressing-room, and
the leading lady struck me as rather good-looking. Her name was Narici,
and she was from Bologna. I bowed to her, and after the common-place
conversation usual in such cases, I asked her whether she was free.

"I am only engaged with the manager," she answered.

"Have you any lover?"

"No."

"I offer myself for the post, if you have no objection."

She smiled jeeringly, and said,

"Will you take four tickets for the four performances?"

I took two sequins out of my purse, taking care to let her see that it
was well filled, and when she gave me the four tickets, presented them to
the maid who was dressing her and was prettier than the mistress, and so
left the room without uttering a single word. She called me back; I
pretended not to hear her, and took a ticket for the pit. After the first
ballet, finding the whole performance very poor, I was thinking of going
away, when, happening to look towards the chief box, I saw to my
astonishment that it was tenanted by the Venetian Manzoni and the
celebrated Juliette. The reader will doubtless remember the ball she gave
at my house in Venice, and the smack with which she saluted my cheek on
that occasion.

They had not yet noticed me, and I enquired from the person seated next
to me who was that beautiful lady wearing so many diamonds. He told me
that she was Madame Querini, from Venice, whom Count Spada, the owner of
the theatre, who was sitting near her, had brought with him from Faenza.
I was glad to hear that M. Querini had married her at last, but I did not
think of renewing the acquaintance, for reasons which my reader cannot
have forgotten if he recollects our quarrel when I had to dress her as an
abbe. I was on the point of going away when she happened to see me and
called me. I went up to her, and, not wishing to be known by anyone, I
whispered to her that my name was Farusi. Manzoni informed me that I was
speaking to her excellency, Madame Querini. "I know it," I said, "through
a letter which I have received from Venice, and