A French officer, more remarkable for his birth and spirit than his wealth, had served the Venetian republic for some years with great valour and fidelity, but had not met with that preferment which he merited. One day he waited on a nobleman whom he had often solicited in vain, but on whose friendship he had still some reliance. The reception he met with was cool and mortifying; the nobleman turned his back upon the necessitous veteran, and left him to find his way to the street through a suite of apartments magnificently furnished. He passed them lost in thought, till, casting his eyes on a sumptuous sideboard, where a valuable collection of Venetian glass, polished and formed in the highest degree of perfection, stood on a damask cloth as a preparation for a splendid entertainment, he took hold of a corner of the linen, and turning to a faithful English mastiff which always accompanied him, said to the animal, in a kind of absence of mind, “Here, my poor old friend; you see how these haughty tyrants indulge themselves, and yet how we are treated!” The poor dog looked his master in the face, and gave tokens that he understood him. The master walked on, but the mastiff slackened his pace, and laying hold of the damask cloth with his teeth, at one hearty pull brought all the glass on the sideboard in shivers to the ground, thus depriving the insolent noble of his favourite exhibition of splendour.