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Updated: June 1, 2025
Deprive him of Paolo Manfrone, Conari, and Lomellino, and the Doge would stand there looking as foolish as a schoolboy who was going to be examined and had forgotten his lesson. Parozzi. Falieri is in the right. Memmo. Quite, quite. Falieri. And then Andreas is as proud as a beggar grown rich and dressed in his first suit of embroidery. By St. Anthony, he is become quite insupportable.
The day after the supper I gave to Madame Pernon and M. Bono, we went to the theatre together, and in the box opposite to us I saw M. Querini, the procurator, Morosini, M. Memmo, and Count Stratico, a Professor of the University of Padua. I knew all these gentlemen; they had been in London, and were passing through Lyons on their return to Venice. "Farewell, fair Marcoline!"
I went but once among them, when Memmo the Venetian ambassador did me the honour to introduce me somewhere, but the conversation was soon over, not so my shame; when I perceived all the company shrink from me very oddly, and stop their noses with rue, which a servant brought to their assistance on open salvers.
"Then you don't like the French," said M. Memmo. "I like them well enough so far as I know them, but I am only acquainted with their exterior, as I don't speak or understand the language." After this everybody knew how to take her, and the gaiety became general.
"Why, how is this, Parozzi?" cried Memmo as he entered, a wretch whose every feature exhibited marks of that libertinism to which his life had been dedicated; "I can scarce recover myself from my astonishment. For Heaven's sake, is this report true? Did you really hire Matteo to murder the Doge's niece?"
M. Memmo, much astonished at this reception, told him the brief history of the meeting, and the secretary replied with a grave air that he had no doubt as to the truth of his story, as the circumstances were in perfect correspondence with what he knew of the matter.
The doors were thrown open. Contarino entered hastily, enveloped in his cloak. "Good evening, sweet gentlemen," said he, and threw his mantle aside. And Memmo, Parozzi, and Falieri started back in horror. "Good God!" they exclaimed, "what has happened? You are covered with blood?" "A trifle!" cried Contarino; "is that wine? quick, give me a goblet of it, I expire with thirst."
"I?" exclaimed Parozzi, and hastily turned away to hide the deadly paleness which overspread his countenance; "why should you suppose that any such designs surely, Memmo, you are distracted." Memmo. By my soul, I speak but the plain matter of fact. Nay, only ask Falieri; he can tell you more. Falieri.
The day after the supper I gave to Madame Pernon and M. Bono, we went to the theatre together, and in the box opposite to us I saw M. Querini, the procurator, Morosini, M. Memmo, and Count Stratico, a Professor of the University of Padua. I knew all these gentlemen; they had been in London, and were passing through Lyons on their return to Venice. "Farewell, fair Marcoline!"
My old miserable uncle, whose whole property becomes mine at his death, has brimful coffers, and the old miser dies whenever I say the word. Falieri. You have suffered him to live too long already. Memmo. Why, I never have been able to make up my mind entirely to You would scarcely believe it, friends, but at times I am so hypochondriac, that I could almost fancy I feel twinges of conscience.
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