l to the Bishop, but without, of course, revealing to
him that I was, so to speak, my own sister. His lordship, who is never
sorry to do the Belverde a bad turn, received me with the utmost
indulgence, and declared that, to protect my innocence from the designs
of this new Potiphar's wife, he would not only give me a lodging in the
Episcopal palace, but confer on me the additional protection of the
minor orders. This was rather more than I had bargained for, but he that
wants the melon is a fool to refuse the rind, and I thanked the Bishop
for his kindness and allowed him to give out that, my heart having been
touched by grace, I had resolved, at the end of the season, to withdraw
from the stage and prepare to enter the Church.

I now fancied myself safe; for I knew the Countess could not attempt my
removal without risk of having her passion denounced to the Duke. I
spent several days very agreeably in the Episcopal palace, entertained
at his lordship's own table, and favoured with private conversations
during which he told me many curious and interesting things about the
Duke and the court, and delicately abstained from all allusion to my
coming change of vocation. The Countess, however, had not been idle. One
day I received notice that the Holy Office disapproved of the appearance
on the stage of a young man about to enter the Church, and requested me
to withdraw at once to the Barnabite monastery, where I was to remain
till I received the minor orders. Now the Abbot of the Barnabites was
the Belverde's brother, and I saw at once that to obey his order would
place me in that lady's power. I again addressed myself to the Bishop,
but to my despair he declared himself unable to aid me farther, saying
that he dared not offend the Holy Office, and that he had already run
considerable risk in protecting me from the Countess.

I was accordingly transferred to the monastery, in spite of my own
entreaties and those of the good Tartaglia, who moved heaven and earth
to save his Columbine from sequestration. You may imagine my despair. My
fear of doing Tartaglia an injury kept me from revealing my sex, and for
twenty-four hours I languished in my cell, refusing food and air, and
resisting the repeated attempts of the good monks to alleviate my
distress. At length however I bethought me that the Countess would soon
appear; and it flashed across me that the one person who could protect
me from her was her brother. I at once sought