“She is not your niece.” “Nay, she is more--she is my queen.” “You will have to teach her French, as when you get to London--” “I am not going to take her there; she wants to return to Venice.” “I pity you if you are in love with her! I hope she will dine with us?” “Oh, yes! she is delighted with the honour.” “And we are delighted to have our poor repast animated by such a charming person.” “You will find her worthy of your company; she is full of wit.” When I got back to the inn I told Marcoline that if anything was said at dinner about her return to Venice, she was to reply that no one could make her return except M. Querini, but that if she could have his protection she would gladly go back with him. “I will draw you out of the difficulty,” said I; and she promised to carry out my instructions. Marcoline followed my advice with regard to her toilette, and looked brilliant in all respects; and I, wishing to shine in the eyes of the proud Venetian nobles, had dressed myself with the utmost richness. I wore a suit of grey velvet, trimmed with gold and silver lace; my point lace shirt was worth at least fifty louis; and my diamonds, my watches, my chains, my sword of the finest English steel, my snuff-box set with brilliants, my cross set with diamonds, my buckles set with the same stones, were altogether worth more than fifty thousand crowns. This ostentation, though puerile in itself, yet had a purpose, for I wished M. de Bragadin to know that I did not cut a bad figure in the world; and I wished the proud magistrates who had made me quit my native land to learn that I had lost nothing, and could laugh at their severity. In this gorgeous style we drove to the ambassador’s dinner at half-past one. All present were Venetians, and they welcomed Marcoline enthusiastically. She who was born with the instinct of good manners behaved with the grace of a nymph and the dignity of a French princess; and as soon as she was seated between two grave and reverend signors, she began by saying that she was delighted to find herself the only representative of her sex in this distinguished 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.