"

Amalia had already appeared on the stairs, although to most of those
who had just come out of the glaring sunlight she was invisible in the
twilit interior. Casanova, whose keen vision enabled him to see well
even in the dark, had noted her presence sooner than Olivo. He smiled,
and was aware that the smile made him look younger. Amalia had not grown
fat, as he had feared. She was still slim and youthful. She recognized
him instantly.

"What a pleasant surprise!" she exclaimed without the slightest
embarrassment, hastening down the stairs, and offering her cheek to
Casanova. The latter, nothing loath, gave her a friendly hug.

"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. "I suppose," she
said, "it was your meeting with the Chevalier that has made you so late,
Olivo?"

"Yes, that is why I am late. But I hope there is still something to
eat?"

"Marcolina and I were frightfully hungry, but of course we have waited
dinner for you."

"Can you manage to wait a few minutes longer," asked Casanova, "while I
get rid of the dust of the drive?"

"I will show you your room immediately," answered Olivo. "I do hope,
Chevalier, you will find it to your taste; almost as much to your
taste," he winked, and added in a low tone, "as your room in the inn at
Mantua--though here one or two little things may be lacking."

He led the way upstairs into the gallery surrounding the hall. From one
of the corners a narrow wooden stairway led into the tower. At the top,
Olivo opened the door into the turret chamber, and politely invited
Casanova to enter the modest guest chamber. A maidservant brought up
the valise. Casanova was then left alone in a medium-sized room, simply
furnished, but equipped with all necessaries. It had four tall and
narrow bay-windows, commanding views to the four points of the compass,
across the sunlit plain with its green vineyards, bright meadows, golden
fields, white roads, light-colored houses, and dusky gardens. Casanova
concerned himself little about the view, and hastened to remove the
stains of travel, being impelled less by hunger than by an eager
curiosity to see Marcolina face to face. He did not change, for he
wished to reserve h