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Updated: June 21, 2025
Suddenly he found himself at the door in the garden wall. It was locked. Then Lorenzi had a master-key! But who, it now occurred to him to ask, had ridden the horse he had heard trotting away after Lorenzi had left the card table? A servant in waiting for the purpose, obviously. Involuntarily Casanova smiled his approval.
Suddenly Lorenzi, who had hitherto taken no part in the game, staked a ducat, won, let the doubled stake stand; won again and again, and continued to have the same luck with but occasional interruptions.
He wondered what sort of woman it was whose image came to Nevill's mind, in the garden of lilies that smelt so heavenly sweet under the moon. He supposed there must always be some woman whose image was suggested to every man by all that was fairest in nature. Margot Lorenzi was the woman whose image he must keep in his mind, if he wanted to know any faint imitation of happiness in future.
Even the duel between the two naked men upon the green turf in the early sunshine seemed somehow to belong to this dream, wherein often enough, in enigmatic fashion, he was not Casanova but Lorenzi; not the victor but the vanquished; not the fugitive, but the slain round whose pale young body the lonely wind of morning played.
While the Marchese was dealing, Lorenzi turned to Casanova with ceremonious politeness, saying: "My compliments, Chevalier. You were better informed than I. My regiment is under orders to march tomorrow afternoon." The Marchese looked surprised. "Why did you not tell us sooner, Lorenzi?" "The matter did not seem of such supreme importance." "It is of no great importance to me," said the Marchese.
The Duchess of Amidon told Lady Peggy Lynch whom I know a little that immediately after Lorenzi committed suicide, this Margot girl wrote to Stephen Knight and implored him to help her. I can quite believe she would. Fancy the daughter of the unsuccessful claimant to his brother's title writing begging letters to a young man like Stephen Knight! It appeals to one's sense of humour."
Casanova, who had meanwhile wrapped up the money in a silken kerchief, instantly followed. Without looking at the others' faces, he could feel that they were convinced it was his instant intention to do what they had all the while been expecting, namely, to place his winnings at Lorenzi's disposal. Casanova overtook Lorenzi in the chestnut avenue.
There she would fain have drawn him into her arms, but Lorenzi roughly tore himself away and strode towards the house. Meeting Casanova in the entry, he gave him precedence with mock politeness. Casanova accepted the precedence without a word of thanks. The Marchese was the first banker.
The next morning, what was my surprise to see the Charpillon, who said with an air that I should have taken for modesty in any other woman, "I don't want you to give me any breakfast, I want an explanation, and to introduce Miss Lorenzi to you." I bowed to her and to her companion, and then said, "What explanation do you require?"
It was the last thing he would have wished to think of just now, and he drove the detestable image from his mind. It must be midnight! How long was he to stand shivering there? Waiting in vain, perhaps? Cheated, after all? Two thousand ducats for nothing. Lorenzi behind the curtain, mocking at the fool outside!
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