In the evening, I went to Madame Orio.
I meant to tell her two charming nieces that, being now lodged under Grimani's roof, I could not sleep out on the first night.
Rosa was there. Loyal as ever, he pulled me aside and spoke in a low voice.
"The story of your alibi is everywhere," he said. "And that kind of fame is never born from belief. People repeat it because they think it false. You should expect retaliation from Razetta. Be on your guard, especially at night."
I understood him at once. From that day I never went out after dark except in a gondola or in the company of friends.
Madame Manzoni approved my caution. The judges, she said, could not help acquitting me, but everybody knew the real truth of the matter, and Razetta could not fail to be my deadly foe.
Three or four days later Grimani announced the bishop's arrival. The prelate had lodged at the convent of his order, at Saint-François de Paul.
Grimani took me there himself and presented me with a flourish, as if I were a jewel belonging to him and as if he alone knew how to praise it.
I saw a monk of fine presence, bearing a pectoral cross upon his chest.
He would have reminded me of Father Mancia, had he not looked stouter and less reserved.
He was about thirty-four, and had been made a bishop by the grace of God, the Holy See, and my mother.
He blessed me. I knelt and kissed his hand.
Then he embraced me warmly, calling me his dear son, and addressed me in Latin. I supposed he used it because, being Calabrian, he might be ashamed of his Italian.
A moment later he undeceived me by turning to Grimani and speaking Italian with perfect ease.
"You cannot leave Venecia with me," he said to me. "You must go to Rome. Grimani will see you sent there. At Ancona you will obtain my address from a friend of mine, Lazari, a Minim monk. He will also provide you with what you need to continue your journey."
"When we meet in Rome," he added, "we can go together to Martorano by way of Naples. Call upon me tomorrow morning, and have your breakfast with me. I intend to leave the day after."
On the way back M. Grimani treated me to a long lecture on morals, which nearly caused me to burst into loud laughter.
Among other instructions he warned me not to study too hard.
"The air in Calabria is heavy," he said gravely. "Too much reading could make you consumptive."
I bit my tongue.
At daybreak the next morning I went to the bishop.
After he said mass, we took chocolate, and then he examined me for three hours. His questions came steadily, like the turning of a key in a lock.
By the end of it I could see he was not satisfied with me.
Curiously, I was satisfied with him.
He seemed a worthy man. And since he was to lead me onto the great road of the Church, I felt drawn to him.
At that time, though I had a good opinion of my appearance, I had no confidence whatever in my talents.
After the departure of the good bishop, M. Grimani put into my hand a letter the prelate had left for me. I was to deliver it to Father Lazari at the convent of the Minims in Ancona.
Grimani added that he would send me there with the Venetian ambassador, who was about to sail.
I would have been ready to embark with the devil himself, provided it carried me out of Grimani's reach. I approved every arrangement with a docility that pleased him.
As soon as I learned the day on which the ambassador's suite would embark, I went to take leave of everyone I knew.
I left my brother François placed with M. Joli, the celebrated decorative painter.
Since the peotta was not to depart until daybreak, I spent the short night with the two sisters.
This time they entertained no hope of ever seeing me again.
As for me, I could not foresee anything at all.
I abandoned myself to fate, and found it useless to think beyond the next hour.
That night passed in a strange mixture of joy and sorrow, pleasure interrupted by tears, laughter followed by silence.
At dawn, when I said farewell, I returned the key that had so often opened for me the road to happiness.
That first love of mine taught me little of the world, because it was all happiness.
No quarrels, no calculations, no stained motives … only a gentle intercourse that never soured.
We often felt, all three of us, as if we must raise our souls towards the eternal Providence of God, to thank Him for having, by His particular protection, kept from us all the accidents which might have disturbed the sweet peace we were enjoying.
I placed in Madame Manzoni's hands all my papers and all the forbidden books I possessed.
She was twenty years older than I, and, believing firmly in destiny, took pleasure in reading the great book of fate as if it lay open before her.
She smiled and told me she was certain she would return everything to me before the end of the following year, at the latest.
Her prediction both surprised and pleased me. I respected her too much not to do my part in helping her prove right.
Besides, she did not prophesy through superstition or vague foreboding. She predicted through knowledge, knowledge of the world, and of the young man standing before her.
She used to laugh because she never made a mistake.
I embarked from the landing at Saint Mark's.
Grimani gave me ten sequins, believing they would maintain me through the quarantine at the Ancona lazaretto, after which I could not possibly want for money.
I shared his confidence, and with my usual thoughtlessness gave it no further attention.
Yet I must confess one detail, known to no one. I had forty bright sequins hidden in my purse. They contributed greatly to my gaiety.
I left Venecia full of joy and without a single regret.