As I was on the point of leaving Prague, I met in the street my friend Fabris, who had become a colonel, and he insisted upon my dining with him.  After ’embracing him, I represented to him, but in vain, that I had made all my arrangements to go away immediately.

“You will go this evening,” he said, “with a friend of mine, and you will catch the coach.”

I had to give way, and I was delighted to have done so, for the remainder of the day passed in the most agreeable manner.  Fabris was longing for war, and his wishes were gratified two years afterwards; he covered himself with glory.

I must say one word about Locatelli, who was an original character well worthy to be known.  He took his meals every day at a table laid out for thirty persons, and the guests were his actors, actresses, dancers of both sexes, and a few friends.  He did the honours of his well-supplied board nobly, and his real passion was good living.  I shall have occasion to mention him again at the time of my journey to St. Petersburg, where I met him, and where he died only lately at the age of ninety.