Page:Marquis de Sade - Adelaide of Brunswick.djvu/112

 one of these hostels that the Princess of Saxony and Bathilda found lodgings.

The first concern of the princess was to find out, at the hotel where she had stopped, the name of a highly recommended merchant in Venice where she could make use of her letter of credit. She felt that as long as she was in Venice she should make her entrée into the social life of the city. She was told to send word to Signor Bianchi, a rich ship owner, to inform him of the arrival of the Baroness von Neuhaus, who had been recommended to him and to request him to fix a time when that lady could come to see him.

Bianchi did not wait for Adelaide to come to see him; he hastened to go to her rooms. She showed him the letter of credit she had, and disclosed her true identity, telling him the reasons for her incognito, and asking him to guard her secret. The ship owner, a pleasant and attractive man, said that not only would he be her banker, but that he would try to justify the confidences which she had placed in him. Moreover, he would give her all the pleasure which could be found in Venice, by presenting her in the most distinguished gatherings where her beauty would not fail to attract the attention it deserved.

The princess responded to this politeness with the natural grace and dignity of her rank, and promised Bianchi to accept his invitations. Before he left he invited her to dine at his home.

Comfortably installed in their hotel and fearing no danger of any kind, the princess and her companion were able to have a peaceful conversation.

"The chief of the bandits was a very fine man," said the princess. "Who would imagine finding so much nobility in a man of his profession? Since I have been traveling over the face of the earth, I have noticed that passion corrupts the soul of men, but I believe that reflection brings them back into line again; and when a man is really himself, he becomes virtuous."

"But how can we control passions when we are born with them?"

"That is precisely the excuse, my dear Bathilda, of those who abandon themselves to their passions. Everybody is born with them, but they have to be coped with only at certain