I credited what he told me, as the circumstance of my having arms was perfectly true, so I gave the man a doubloon, and, instead of calling on Donna Ignazia, as I intended, I went back to my lodging, and after putting the weapons under my cloak I went to Mengs’s, leaving word at the cafe to send me my page as soon as he came back. In Mengs’s house I was safe, as it belonged to the king. The painter was an honest fellow, but proud and suspicious in excess. He did not refuse me an asylum for the night, but he told me that I must look out for some other refuge, as the alcalde must have some other accusation against me, and that knowing nothing of the merits or demerits of the case he could not take any part in it. He gave me a room and we supped together, discussing the matter all the time, I persisting that the possession of arms was my only offence, and he replying that if it were so I should have awaited the alcalde fearlessly, as it stood to reason that a man had a right to keep defensive weapons in his own room. To this I answered that I had only come to him to avoid passing the night in prison, as I was certain that the man had told me the truth. “To-morrow I shall look out for another lodging.” I confessed, however, that it would have been wiser of me to leave my pistols and musket in my room. “Yes, and you might have remained there yourself. I did not think you were so easily frightened.” As we were arguing it over my landlord came and said that the alcalde with thirty constables had been to my apartment and had broken open the door. He had searched everything, but unsuccessfully, and had gone away after sealing the room and its contents. He had arrested and imprisoned my page on the charge of having warned me, “for otherwise,” he said, “the Venetian gentleman would never have gone to the house of Chevalier Mengs, where he is out of my power.” At this Mengs agreed that I had been right in believing my informant’s tale, and he added that the first thing in the morning I should go and protest my innocence before the Count of Aranda, but he especially urged on me the duty of defending the poor page. My landlord went his way, and we continued the discussion, Mengs insisting on the page’s innocence, till at last I lost all patience, and said,-- “My page must be a thorough-paced scoundrel; the magistrate’s arresting him for warning me is an absolute proof that he knew of my approaching arrest. What is a servant who does not warn his master under such circumstances but a rascal? Indeed I am absolutely certain that he was the informer, for he was the only person who knew where the arms were concealed.” Mengs could find no answer to this, and left to go to bed. I did the same and had an excellent night.