The gondolier whom I had sent to her apartment brought me for answer that she had set off, the evening before, for Florence.

If I had not felt all the love I had for her person when this was in my possession, I felt it in the most cruel manner on losing her.

Amiable and charming as she was in my eyes, I could not console myself for the loss of her; but this I have never been able to do relative to the contemptuous idea which at her departure she must have had of me.
These are my two narratives.

The eighteen months I passed at Venice furnished me with no other of the same kind, except a simple prospect at most.

Carrio was a gallant.