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company, and also that
there were no Frenchmen present.
"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.
She answered all questions to the point, and entertained the company
with her remarks on French manners, so different to Venetian customs.
In the course of dinner M. Querini asked how she had known him, and
she replied that she had often seen him at Divine service, whereat the
devotee seemed greatly flattered. M. Morosini, pretending not to know
that she was to return to Venice, told her that unless she made haste to
acquire French, the universal language, she would find London very
tedious, as the Italian language was very little known there.

"I hope," she replied, "that M. de Seingalt will not bring me into the
society of people with whom I cannot exchange ideas. I know I shall
never be able to learn French."
When we had left the table the ambassadors begged me to tell the story
of my escape from The Leads, and I was glad to oblige them. My story
lasted for two whole hours; and as it was noticed that Marcoline's eyes
became wet with tears when I came to speak of my great danger. She
was rallied upon the circumstance, and told that nieces were not usually
so emotional.
"That may be, gentlemen," she replied, "though I do not see why a
niece should not love her uncle. But I have never loved anyone else but
the hero of the tale, and I cannot see what difference there can be
between one kind of love and another."
"There are five kinds of love known to man," said M. Querini. "The
love of one's neighbour, the love of God, which is beyond compare, the
highest of all, love matrimonial, the love of house and home, and the
love of self, which ought to come last of all, though many place it in
the first rank."
The nobleman commented briefly on these diverse kinds of love, but
when he came to the love of God he began to soar, and I was greatly
astonished to see Marcoline shedding tears, which she wiped away
hastily as if to hide them from the sight of the worthy old man whom
wine had made more theological than usual. Feigning to be enthusiastic,
Marcoline took his hand and kissed it, while he in his vain exaltation
drew her towards him and kissed her on the brow, saying, "Poveretta,
you are an angel!"
At this incident, in which there was more love of our neighbour than
love of God, we all bit our lips to prevent ourselves bursting out
laughing, and the sly little puss pretended to be extremely moved.
I never knew Marcoline's capacities till then, for she confessed that her
emotion was wholly fictitious, and designed to win the old man's good
graces; and that if she had followed her own inclinations she would

have laughed heartily. She was designed to act a part either upon the
stage or on a throne. Chance had ordained that she should be born of
the people, and her education had been neglected; but if she had been
properly tutored she would have been fit for anything.
Before returning home we were warmly invited to dinner the next day.
As we wanted to be together, we did not go to the theatre that day and
when we got home I did not wait for Marcoline to undress to cover her
with kisses.
"Dear heart," said I, "you have not shewn me all your perfections till
now, when we are about to part; you make me regret you are going
back to Venice. Today you won all hearts."
"Keep me then, with you, and I will ever be as I have been to-day. By
the way, did you see my uncle?"
"I think so. Was it not he who was in continual attendance?"
"Yes. I recognized him by his ring. Did he look, at me?"
"All the time, and with an air of the greatest astonishment. I avoided
catching his eye, which roved from you to me continually."
"I should like to know what the good man thinks! You will see him
again to-morrow. I am sure he will have told M. Querini that, I am his
niece, and consequently not yours.
"I expect so, too."
"And if M. Querini says as much to me to-morrow, I, expect I shall
have to, admit the fact. What do you think?"
"You must undoubtedly tell him the truth, but frankly and openly, and
so as not to let