At the house of Madame Avogadro, a woman full of wit in spite of her sixty years, I had made the acquaintance of a young Polish nobleman called Zawoiski.  He was expecting money from Poland, but in the mean time the Venetian ladies did not let him want for any, being all very much in love with his handsome face and his Polish manners.  We soon became good friends, my purse was his, but, twenty years later, he assisted me to a far greater extent in Munich.  Zawoiski was honest, he had only a small dose of intelligence, but it was enough for his happiness.  He died in Trieste five or six years ago, the ambassador of the Elector of Treves.  I will speak of him in another part of these Memoirs.

This amiable young man, who was a favourite with everybody and was thought a free-thinker because he frequented the society of Angelo Querini and Lunardo Venier, presented me one day, as we were out walking, to an unknown countess who took my fancy very strongly.  We called on her in the evening, and, after introducing me to her husband, Count Rinaldi, she invited us to remain and have supper.

The count made a faro bank in the course of the evening, I punted with his wife as a partner, and won some fifty ducats.

Very much pleased with my new acquaintance, I called alone on the countess the next morning.  The count, apologizing for his wife who was not up yet, took me to her room.  She received me with graceful ease, and, her husband having left us alone, she had the art to let me hope for every favour, yet without committing herself; when I took leave of her, she invited me to supper for the evening.  After supper I played, still in partnership with her, won again, and went away very much in love.  I did not fail to pay her another visit the next morning, but when I presented myself at the house I was told that she had gone out.

I called again in the evening, and, after she had excused herself for not having been at home in the morning, the faro bank began, and I lost all my money, still having the countess for my partner.  After supper, and when the other guests had retired, I remained with Zawoiski, Count Rinaldi having offered to give us our revenge.  As I had no more money, I played upon trust, and the count threw down the cards after I had lost five hundred sequins.  I went away in great sorrow.  I was bound in honour to pay the next morning, and I did not possess a groat.  Love increased my despair, for I saw myself on the point of losing the esteem of a woman by whom I was smitten, and the anxiety I felt did not escape M. de Bragadin when we met in the morning.  He kindly encouraged me to confess my troubles to him.  I was conscious that it was my only chance, and candidly related the whole affair, and I ended by saying that I should not survive my disgrace.  He consoled me by promising that my debt would be cancelled in the course of the day, if I would swear never to play again upon trust.  I took an oath to that effect,