—at least until it was rebuilt,—and I said to myself, "Well, it is certain that poor M. de L——, who wanted so much to escape, is no longer there."
And so with my heart full of kindly thoughts, I passed,— either that day or the next,—the bridge of Beauvoism, and so from town to town, traversed the Kingdom of Italy, and the former Republic of Venice, where I did not see the Lion of St. Mark, because I had left it at Paris in front of the Invalides. I did not seek the Bucentaur, but a little felucca, and with my usual good luck, found one all ready to sail for Trieste. The felucca received me and my baggage, and the sea which the Doge of Venice weds every year, did not seem to notice the light weight I laid on its back, and in due time I landed safely at that city which for some time past had been known as the capital of the Illyrian provinces, and,—speaking without prejudice,—I found the air there better.
I saw at once that I was not mistaken in supposing that I should be safe there. The country had been but recently an-