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Updated: June 12, 2025
"I think, Olivo," said Casanova, "that you have allowed yourself to be convinced of the Marchese's complaisance too easily. Did you not notice his manner towards the young man, the mingling of contempt and ferocity? I should not like to wager that all will end well." Marcolina remained impassive.
"Am I really to believe," said he, "that Maria, Nanetta, and Teresina are your very own daughters, Amalia? No doubt the passage of the years makes it possible...." "And all the other evidence is in keeping," supplemented Olivo. "Rely upon that, Chevalier!" Amalia let her eyes dwell reminiscently upon the guest.
Meanwhile Olivo gave the newcomer a circumstantial account of the rediscovery of Casanova. Dreamily Amalia continued to gaze at the beloved guest's masterful brown forehead. The children ran out into the garden; Marcolina had risen from the table and was watching them through the open window.
The Abbate shook his head, saying he had had enough. Olivo played merely because he did not wish to be discourteous to his distinguished guest. Lorenzi's luck held. When he had won four hundred ducats in all, he rose from the table, saying: "To-morrow I shall be happy to give you your revenge. But now, by your leave, I shall ride home."
Some months since three friends met together in an old-fashioned bookshop on the venerable Calle del Olivo a writer, a printer, and myself. "Fifteen years ago all three of us were anarchists," remarked the printer. "What are we today?" I inquired. "We are conservatives," replied the man who wrote. "What are you?" "I believe that I have the same ideas I had then."
So carried away was he by the rediscovered charm of his own past, so completely did the triumph of these splendid though irrecoverable experiences eclipse the consciousness of the shadows that encompassed his present, that he was on the point of telling the story of a pale but pretty girl who in a twilit church at Mantua had confided her love troubles to him absolutely forgetting that this same girl, sixteen years older, now sat at the table before him as the wife of his friend Olivo when the maid came in to say that the carriage was waiting.
Reflecting, however, that premature advances could do his cause nothing but harm, he held his wit in leash, and civilly rejoined that he had been content to make a few emendations, the fruit of his conversation with her yesterday. Now they all seated themselves in the lumbering carriage. Casanova sat opposite Marcolina, Olivo opposite Amalia.
Doctor Olivo happened to come in at that moment, and inquired whether he would be in the way; he was answered in the negative, provided he had faith. Upon which he left, saying that he had no faith in any miracles except in those of the Gospel. Soon after Doctor Gozzi went to his room, and finding myself alone with Bettina I bent down over her bed and whispered in her ear.
"She has a number of things to attend to in the house; and besides, this is the girls' lesson time." "What an excellent housewife and mother! You're a lucky fellow, Olivo!" "I tell myself the same thing every day," responded Olivo, with tears in his eyes. They passed by the gable end of the house.
"With pleasure, Signor Lieutenant," rejoined the Marchese, "as soon as you have paid your debt." Olivo, who was profoundly distressed, here intervened, stammering slightly: "I stand surety for the amount, Signor Marchese. Unfortunately I have not sufficient ready money on the spot; but there is the house, the estate....." He closed the sentence with an awkward wave of the hand.
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