“What is your name?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Then you need not tell me to come, for if you were a true friend of mine you would tell me your name.”
I went out and he followed me, begging me to come with him to the end of the arcades. When we got there he took off his mask, and I recognized Croce, whom my readers may remember.
I knew he was banished from Milan, and understood why he did not care to give his name in public, but I was exceedingly glad I had refused to go to his inn.
“I am surprised to see you here,” said I.
“I dare say your are. I have come here in this carnival season, when one can wear a mask, to compel my relations to give me what they owe me; but they put me off from one day to another, as they are sure I shall be obliged to go when Lent begins.”
“And will you do so?”
“I shall be obliged to, but as you will not come and see me, give me twenty sequins, which will enable me to leave Milan. My cousin owes me ten thousand livres, and will not pay me a tenth even. I will kill him before I go.”
“I haven’t a farthing, and that mask of yours has made me lose a thousand sequins, which I do not know how to pay.