he pleasure of measuring
myself at the card table with a partner of your rank. The reason is
simple." He spoke in the tone of a dethroned sovereign. "Despite my
renown, my dear Marchese, I am now practically reduced to the condition
of a beggar."

The Marchese involuntarily lowered his eyes before Casanova's haughty
gaze. He shook his head incredulously, as if he had been listening to a
strange jest. Olivo, who had followed the conversation with the keenest
attention, and had accompanied the skilful parries of his marvellous
friend with approving nods, could hardly repress a gesture of alarm.
They had just reached a narrow wooden door in the garden wall. Olivo
produced a key, and turned the creaking lock. Giving the Marchese
precedence into the garden, he arrested Casanova by the arm, whispering:

"You must take back those last words, Chevalier, before you set foot
in my house again. The money I have been owing you these sixteen years
awaits you. I was only afraid to speak of it. Amalia will tell you. It
is counted out and ready. I had proposed to hand it over to you on your
departure...."

Casanova gently interrupted him. "You owe me nothing, Olivo. You know
perfectly well that those paltry gold pieces were a wedding present from
the friend of Amalia's mother. Please drop the subject. What are a few
ducats to me?" He raised his voice as he spoke, so that the Marchese,
who had paused at a few paces' distance could hear the concluding words.
"I stand at a turning-point in my fortunes."

Olivo exchanged glances with Casanova, as if asking permission, and then
explained to the Marchese: "You must know that the Chevalier has been
summoned to Venice, and will set out for home in a few days."

"I would rather put it," remarked Casanova as they approached the house,
"that summonses, growing ever more urgent, have been reaching me for
a considerable while. But it seems to me that the senators took long
enough to make up their minds, and may in their turn practise the virtue
of patience."

"Unquestionably," said the Marchese, "you are entitled to stand upon
your dignity, Chevalier."

They emerged from the avenue on to the greensward, across which the
shadow of the house had now lengthened. Close to the dwelling, the rest
of the little company was awaiting them. All rose and came to meet them.
The Abbate led the way, with Marcolina and Amalia on either side. They
were followed by the Marchesa, with whom came a tall, young