ey too. Are you in love
with her?"

"No; but I am curious, as you were."

"Take care! she will do all in her power to entrap you."

She came in and went up to my lord with the most perfect coolness, and
began to chatter away to him without taking any notice of me. She
laughed, joked, and reproached him for not having pursued her at
Vauxhall. Her stratagem, she said, was only meant to excite him the more.

"Another time," she added, "I shall not escape you."

"Perhaps not, my dear, for another time I shall take care not to pay in
advance."

"Oh, fie! you degrade yourself by talking about paying."

"I suppose I honour you."

"We never talk of such things."

Lord Pembroke laughed at her impertinences, while she made a vigorous
assault on him, for his coolness and indifference piqued her.

She left us soon after dinner, making me promise to dine with her the day
after next.

I passed the next day with the amiable nobleman who initiated me into the
mysteries of the English bagnio, an entertainment which I shall not
describe, for it is well known to all who care to spend six guineas.

On the day appointed, my evil destiny made me go to the Charpillon's; the
girl introduced me to her mother, whom I at once recollected, although
she had aged and altered since I had seen her.

In the year 1759 a Genevan named Bolome had persuaded me to sell her
jewels to the extent of six thousand francs, and she had paid me in bills
drawn by her and her two sisters on this Bolome, but they were then known
as Anspergher. The Genevan became bankrupt before the bills were due, and
the three sisters disappeared. As may be imagined, I was surprised to
find them in England, and especially to be introduced to them by the
Charpillon, who, knowing nothing of the affair of the jewels, had not
told them that Seingalt was the same as Casanova, whom they had cheated
of six thousand francs.

"I am delighted to see you again," were the first words I addressed to
her.

"I recollect you, sir; that rascal Bolome . . . ."

"We will discuss that subject another time. I see you are ill."

"I have been at death's door, but I am better now. My daughter did not
tell me your proper name."

"Yes, she did. My name is Seingalt as well as Casanova. I was known by
the latter name at Paris when I made your daughter's acquaintance, though
I did not know then that she was your daughter."

Just then the grandmother, whose name was also Anspergher, came i