The wretched man, who seemed to follow me wherever I went, had taken up
his abode in the house of a poor Irishman.

I do not know how Medini found out that I was at Florence, but he wrote
me a letter begging me to come and deliver him from the police, who
besieged his room and talked of taking him to prison. He said he only
wanted me to go bail for him, and protested that I should not run any
risk, as he was sure of being able to pay in a few days.

My readers will be aware that I had good reason for not liking Medini,
but in spite of our quarrel I could not despise his entreaty. I even felt
inclined to become his surety, if he could prove his capability of paying
the sum for which he had been arrested. I imagined that the sum must be a
small one, and could not understand why the landlord did not answer for
him. My surprise ceased, however, when I entered his room.

As soon as I appeared he ran to embrace me, begging me to forget the
past, and to extract him from the painful position in which he found
himself.

I cast a rapid glance over the room, and saw three trunks almost empty,
their contents being scattered about the floor. There was his mistress,
whom I knew, and who had her reasons for not liking me; her young sister,
who wept; and her mother, who swore, and called Medini a rogue, saying
that she would complain of him to the magistrate, and that she was not
going to allow her dresses and her daughter's dresses to be seized for
his debts.

I asked the landlord why he did not go bail, as he had these persons and