I Return the Portrait I Had Stolen in Vienna I Proceed to Padua; An
Adventure on My Way Back, and Its Consequences--I Meet Therese Imer
Again--My Acquaintance With Mademoiselle C. C.
I found myself again in my native country with that feeling of delight
which is experienced by all true-hearted men, when they see again the
place in which they have received the first lasting impressions. I had
acquired some experience; I knew the laws of honour and politeness; in
one word, I felt myself superior to most of my equals, and I longed to
resume my old habits and pursuits; but I intended to adopt a more regular
and more reserved line of conduct.
I saw with great pleasure, as I entered my study, the perfect 'statu quo'
which had been preserved there. My papers, covered with a thick layer of
dust, testified well enough that no strange hand had ever meddled with
them.
Two days after my arrival, as I was getting ready to accompany the
Bucentoro, on which the Doge was going, as usual, to wed the Adriatic,
the widow of so many husbands, and yet as young as on the first day of
her creation, a gondolier brought me a letter. It was from M. Giovanni
Grimani, a young nobleman, who, well aware that he had no right to
command me, begged me in the most polite manner to call at his house to
receive a letter which had been entrusted to him for delivery in my own
hands. I went to him immediately, and after the usual compliments he
handed me a letter with a flying seal, which he had received the day
before.
Here are the contents:
"Sir, having made a useless search for my portrait after you left, and
not being in the habit of receiving thieves in my apartment, I feel
satisfied that it must be in your possession. I request you to deliver it
to the person who will hand you this letter.
"FOGLIAZZI."
Happening to have the portrait with me, I took it out of my pocket, and
gave it at once to M. Grimani, who received it with a mixture of
satisfaction and surprise for he had evidently thought that the
commission entrusted to him would be more difficult to fulfil, and he
remarked,
"Love has most likely made a thief of you but I congratulate you, for
your passion cannot be a very ardent one."
"How can you judge of that?"
"From the readiness with which you give up this portrait."
"I would not have given it up so easily to anybody else."
"I thank you; and as a compensation I beg you to accept my friendship."
"I place it in my estimation infinitely above the portrait, and even
above the original. May I ask you to forward my answer?"
"I promise you to send it. Here is some paper, write your letter; you
need not seal it."
I wrote the following words:
"In getting rid of the portrait, Casanova experiences a satisfaction by
far superior to that which he felt when, owing to a stupid fancy, he was
foolish enough to put it in his pocket."
Bad weather having compelled the authorities to postpone the wonderful
wedding until the following Sunday, I accompanied M. de Bragadin, who was
going to Padua. The amiable old man ran away from, the noisy pleasures
which no longer suited his age, and he was going to spend in peace the
few days which the public rejoicings would have rendered unpleasant for
him in Venice. On the following Saturday, after dinner, I bade him
farewell, and got into the post-chaise to return to Venice. If I had left
Padua two minutes sooner or later, the whole course of my life would have
been altered, and my destiny, if destiny is truly shaped by fatal
combinations, would have been very different. But the reader can judge
for himself.
Having, therefore, left Padua at the very instant marked by fatality, I
met at Oriago a cabriolet, drawn at full speed by two post-horses,
containing a very pretty woman and a man wearing a German uniform. Within
a few yards from me the vehicle was suddenly upset on the side of the
river, and the woman, falling over the officer, was in great danger of
rolling into the Brenta. I jumped out of my chaise without even stopping
my postillion, and rushing to the assistance of the lady I remedied with
a chaste hand the disorder caused to her toilet by her fall.
Her companion, who had picked himself up without any injury, hastened
towards us, and there was the lovely creature sitting on the ground
thoroughly amazed, and less confused from her fall than from the
indiscretion of her petticoats, which had exposed in all their nakedness
certain parts which an honest woman never shews to a stranger. In the
warmth of her thanks, which lasted until her postillion and mine had
righted the cabriolet, she often called me her saviour, her guardian
angel.
The vehicle being all right, the lady continued her journey towards
Padua, and I resumed mine towards Venice, which I reached just in time to
dress for the opera.
The next day I masked myself early to accompany the Bucentoro, which,
favoured by fine weather, was to be taken to the Lido for the great and
ridiculous ceremony. The whole affair is under the responsibility of the
admiral of the arsenal, who answers for the weather remaining fine, under
penalty of his head, for the slightest contrary wind might capsize the
ship and drown the Doge, with all the most serene noblemen, the
ambassadors, and the Pope's nuncio, who is the sponsor of that burlesque
wedding which the Venetians respect even to superstition. To crown the
misfortune of such an accident it would make the whole of Europe laugh,
and people would not fail to say that the Doge of Venice had gone at last
to consummate his marriage.
I had removed my mask, and was drinking some coffee under the
'procuraties' of St. Mark's Square, when a fine-looking female mask
struck me gallantly on the shoulder with her fan. As I did not know who
she was I did not take much notice of it, and after I had finished my
coffee I put on my mask and walked towards the Spiaggia del Sepulcro,
where M. de Bragadin's gondola was waiting for me. As I was getting near
the Ponte del Paglia I saw the same masked woman attentively looking at
some wonderful monster shewn for a few pence. I went up to her; and asked
her why she had struck me with her fan.
"To punish you for not knowing me again after having saved my life." I
guessed that she was the person I had rescued the day before on the banks
of the Brenta, and after paying her some compliments I enquired whether
she intended to follow the Bucentoro.
"I should like it," she said, "if I had a safe gondola."
I offered her mine, which was one of the largest, and, after consulting a
masked person who accompanied her, she accepted. Before stepping in I
invited them to take off their masks, but they told me that they wished
to remain unknown. I then begged them to tell me if they belonged to the
suite of some ambassador, because in that case I should be compelled,
much to my regret, to withdraw my invitation; but they assured me that
they were both Venetians. The gondola belonging to a patrician, I might
have committed myself with the State Inquisitors-a thing which I wished
particularly to avoid. We were following the Bucentoro, and seated near
the lady I allowed myself a few slight liberties, but she foiled my
intentions by changing her seat. After the ceremony we returned to
Venice, and the officer who accompanied the lady told me that I would
oblige them by dining in their company at "The Savage." I accepted, for I
felt somewhat curious about the woman. What I had seen of her at the time
of her fall warranted my curiosity. The officer left me alone with her,
and went before us to order dinner.
As soon as I was alone with her, emboldened by the mask, I told her that
I was in love with her, that I had a box at the opera, which I placed
entirely at her disposal, and that, if she would only give me the hope
that I was not wasting my time and my attentions, I would remain her
humble servant during the carnival.
"If you mean to be cruel," I added, "pray say so candidly."
"I must ask you to tell me what sort of a woman you take me for?"
"For a very charming one, whether a princess or a maid of low degree.
Therefore, I hope that you will give me, this very day, some marks of
your kindness, or I must part with you immediately after dinner."
"You will do as you please; but I trust that after dinner you will have
changed your opinion and your language, for your way of speaking is not
pleasant. It seems to me that, before venturing upon such an explanation,
it is necessary to know one another. Do you not think so?"
"Yes, I do; but I am afraid of being deceived."
"How very strange! And that fear makes you begin by what ought to be the
end?"
"I only beg to-day for one encouraging word. Give it to me and I will at
once be modest, obedient and discreet."
"Pray calm yourself."
We found the officer waiting for us before the door of "The Savage," and
went upstairs. The moment we were in the room, she took off her mask, and
I thought her more beautiful than the day before. I wanted only to
ascertain, for the sake of form and etiquette, whether the officer was
her husband, her lover, a relative or a protector, because, used as I was
to gallant adventures, I wished to know the nature of the one in which I
was embarking.
We sat down to dinner, and the manners of the gentleman and of the lady
made it necessary for me to be careful. It was to him that I offered my
box, and it was accepted; but as I had none, I went out after dinner
under pretence of some engagement, in order to get one at the
opera-buffa, where Petrici and Lasqui were then the shining stars. After
the opera I gave them a good supper at an inn, and I took them to their
house in my gondola. Thanks to the darkness of the night, I obtained from
the pretty woman all the favours which can be granted by the side of a
third person who has to be treated with caution. As we parted company,
the officer said,
"You shall hear from me to-morrow."
"Where, and how?"
"Never mind that."
The next morning the servant announced an officer; it was my man. After
we had exchanged the usual compliments, after I had thanked him for the
honour he had done me the day before, I asked him to tell me his name. He
answered me in the following manner, speaking with great fluency, but
without looking at me:
"My name is P---- C----. My father is rich, and enjoys great consideration
at the exchange; but we are not on friendly terms at present. I reside in
St. Mark's Square. The lady you saw with me was a Mdlle. O----; she is
the wife of the broker C----, and her sister married the patrician
P---- M----. But Madame C---- is at variance with her husband on my
account, as she is the cause of my quarrel with my father.
"I wear this uniform in virtue of a captaincy in the Austrian service,
but I have never served in reality. I have the contract for the supply of
oxen to the City of Venice, and I get the cattle from Styria and Hungary.
This contract gives me a net profit of ten thousand florins a year; but
an unforeseen embarrassment, which I must remedy; a fraudulent
bankruptcy, and some extraordinary expenditure, place me for the present
in monetary difficulties. Four years ago I heard a great deal about you,
and wished very much to make your acquaintance; I firmly believe that it
was through the interference of Heaven that we became acquainted the day
before yesterday. I have no hesitation in claiming from you an important
service which will unite us by the ties of the warmest friendship. Come
to my assistance without running any risk yourself; back these three
bills of exchange. You need not be afraid of having to pay them, for I
will leave in your hands these three other bills which fall due before
the first. Besides, I will give you a mortgage upon the proceeds of my
contract during the whole year, so that, should I fail to take up these
bills, you could seize my cattle in Trieste, which is the only road
through which they can come."
Astonished at his speech and at his proposal, which seemed to me a lure
and made me fear a world of trouble which I always abhorred, struck by
the strange idea of that man who, thinking that I would easily fall into
the snare, gave me the preference over so many other persons whom he
certainly knew better than me, I did not hesitate to tell him that I
would never accept his offer. He then had recourse to all his eloquence
to persuade me, but I embarrassed him greatly by telling him how
surprised I was at his giving me the preference over all his other
acquaintances, when I had had the honour to know him only for two days.
"Sir" he said, with barefaced impudence, "having recognised in you a man
of great intelligence, I felt certain that you would at once see the
advantages of my offer, and that you would not raise any objection."
"You must see your mistake by this time, and most likely you will take me
for a fool now you see that I should believe myself a dupe if I
accepted."
He left me with an apology for having troubled me, and saying that he
hoped to see me in the evening at St. Mark's Square, where he would be
with Madame C----, he gave me his address, telling me that he had
retained possession of his apartment unknown to his father. This was as
much as to say that he expected me to return his visit, but if I had been
prudent I should not have done so.
Disgusted at the manner in which that man had attempted to get hold of
me, I no longer felt any inclination to try my fortune with his mistress,
for it seemed evident that they were conspiring together to make a dupe
of me, and as I had no wish to afford them that gratification I avoided
them in the evening. It would have been wise to keep to that line of
conduct; but the next day, obeying my evil genius, and thinking that a
polite call could not have any consequences, I called upon him.
A servant having taken me to his room, he gave me the most friendly
welcome, and reproached me in a friendly manner for not having shewn
myself the evening before. After that, he spoke again of his affairs, and
made me look at a heap of papers and documents; I found it very
wearisome.
"If you make up your mind to sign the three bills of exchange," he said,
"I will take you as a partner in my contract."
By this extraordinary mark of friendship, he was offering me--at least he
said so--an income of five thousand florins a year; but my only answer
was to beg that the matter should never be mentioned again. I was going
to take leave of him, when he said that he wished to introduce me to his
mother and sister.
He left the room, and came back with them. The mother was a respectable,
simple-looking woman, but the daughter was a perfect beauty; she
literally dazzled me. After a few minutes, the over-trustful mother
begged leave to retire, and her daughter remained. In less than half an
hour I was captivated; her perfection delighted me; her lively wit, her
artless reasoning, her candour, her ingenuousness, her natural and noble
feelings, her cheerful and innocent quickness, that harmony which arises
from beauty, wit, and innocence, and which had always the most powerful
influence over me--everything in fact conspired to make me the slave of
the most perfect woman that the wildest dreams could imagine.
Mdlle. C---- C---- never went out without her mother who, although very
pious, was full of kind indulgence. She read no books but her father's--a
serious man who had no novels in his library, and she was longing to read
some tales of romance. She had likewise a great wish to know Venice, and
as no one visited the family she had never been told that she was truly a
prodigy of beauty. Her brother was writing while I conversed with her, or
rather answered all the questions which she addressed to me, and which I
could only satisfy by developing the ideas that she already had, and that
she was herself amazed to find in her own mind, for her soul had until
then been unconscious of its own powers. Yet I did not tell her that she
was lovely and that she interested me in the highest degree, because I
had so often said the same to other women, and without truth, that I was
afraid of raising her suspicions.
I left the house with a sensation of dreamy sadness; feeling deeply moved
by the rare qualities I had discovered in that charming girl, I promised
myself not to see her again, for I hardly thought myself the man to
sacrifice my liberty entirely and to ask her in marriage, although I
certainly believed her endowed with all the qualities necessary to
minister to my happiness.
I had not seen Madame Manzoni since my return to Venice, and I went to
pay her a visit. I found the worthy woman the same as she had always been
towards me, and she gave me the most affectionate welcome. She told me
that Therese Imer, that pretty girl who had caused M. de Malipiero to
strike me thirteen years before, had just returned from Bayreuth, where
the margrave had made her fortune. As she lived in the house opposite,
Madame Manzoni, who wanted to enjoy her surprise, sent her word to come
over. She came almost immediately, holding by the hand a little boy of
eight years--a lovely child--and the only one she had given to her
husband, who was a dancer in Bayreuth. Our surprise at seeing one another
again was equal to the pleasure we experienced in recollecting what had
occurred in our young days; it is true that we had but trifles to
recollect. I congratulated her upon her good fortune, and judging of my
position from external appearances, she thought it right to congratulate
me, but her fortune would have been established on a firmer basis than
mine if she had followed a prudent line of conduct. She unfortunately
indulged in numerous caprices with which my readers will become
acquainted. She was an excellent musician, but her fortune was not
altogether owing to her talent; her charms had done more for her than
anything else. She told me her adventures, very likely with some
restrictions, and we parted after a conversation of two hours. She
invited me to breakfast for the following day. She told me that the
margrave had her narrowly watched, but being an old acquaintance I was
not likely to give rise to any suspicion; that is the aphorism of all
women addicted to gallantry. She added that I could, if I liked, see her
that same evening in her box, and that M. Papafava, who was her
god-father, would be glad to see me. I called at her house early the next
morning, and I found her in bed with her son, who, thanks to the
principles in which he had been educated, got up and left the room as
soon as he saw me seated near his mother's bed. I spent three hours with
her, and I recollect that the last was delightful; the reader will know
the consequence of that pleasant hour later. I saw her a second time
during the fortnight she passed in Venice, and when she left I promised
to pay her a visit in Bayreuth, but I never kept my promise.
I had at that time to attend to the affairs of my posthumous brother, who
had, as he said, a call from Heaven to the priesthood, but he wanted a
patrimony. Although he was ignorant and devoid of any merit save a
handsome face, he thought that an ecclesiastical career would insure his
happiness, and he depended a great deal upon his preaching, for which,
according to the opinion of the women with whom he was acquainted, he had
a decided talent. I took everything into my hands, and I succeeded in
obtaining for him a patrimony from M. Grimani, who still owed us the
value of the furniture in my father's house, of which he had never
rendered any account. He transferred to him a life-interest in a house in
Venice, and two years afterwards my brother was ordained. But the
patrimony was only fictitious, the house being already mortgaged; the
Abbe Grimani was, however, a kind Jesuit, and those sainted servants of
God think that all is well that ends well and profitably to themselves. I
shall speak again of my unhappy brother whose destiny became involved
with mine.
Two days had passed since I had paid my visit to P---- C----, when I met
him in the street. He told me that his sister was constantly speaking of
me, that she quoted a great many things which I had told her, and that
his mother was much pleased at her daughter having made my acquaintance.
"She would be a good match for you," he added, "for she will have a dowry
of ten thousand ducats. If you will call on me to-morrow, we will take
coffee with my mother and sister."
I had promised myself never again to enter his house, but I broke my
word. It is easy enough for a man to forget his promises under such
circumstances.
I spent three hours in conversation with the charming girl and when I
left her I was deeply in love. As I went away, I told her that I envied
the destiny of the man who would have her for his wife, and my
compliment, the first she had ever received, made her blush.
After I had left her I began to examine the nature of my feelings towards
her, and they frightened me, for I could neither behave towards Mdlle.
C---- C---- as an honest man nor as a libertine. I could not hope to obtain
her hand, and I almost fancied I would stab anyone who advised me to
seduce her. I felt that I wanted some diversion: I went to the
gaming-table. Playing is sometimes an excellent lenitive to calm the
mind, and to smother the ardent fire of love. I played with wonderful
luck, and I was going home with plenty of gold, when in a solitary narrow
street I met a man bent down less by age than by the heavy weight of
misery. As I came near him I recognized Count Bonafede, the sight of whom
moved me with pity. He recognized me likewise. We talked for some time,
and at last he told me the state of abject poverty to which he was
reduced, and the great difficulty he had to keep his numerous family. "I
do not blush," he added, "in begging from you one sequin which will keep
us alive for five or six days." I immediately gave him ten, trying to
prevent him from lowering himself in his anxiety to express his
gratitude, but I could not prevent him from shedding tears. As we parted,
he told me that what made him most miserable was to see the position of
his daughter, who had become a great beauty, and would rather die than
make a sacrifice of her virtue. "I can neither support her in those
feelings," he said, with a sigh, "nor reward her for them."
Thinking that I understood the wishes with which misery had inspired him,
I took his address, and promised to pay him a visit. I was curious to see
what had become of a virtue of which I did not entertain a very high
opinion. I called the next day. I found a house almost bare of furniture,
and the daughter alone--a circumstance which did not astonish me. The
young countess had seen me arrive, and received me on the stairs in the
most amiable manner. She was pretty well dressed, and I thought her
handsome, agreeable, and lively, as she had been when I made her
acquaintance in Fort St. Andre. Her father having announced my visit, she
was in high spirits, and she kissed me with as much tenderness as if I
had been a beloved lover. She took me to her own room, and after she had
informed me that her mother was ill in bed and unable to see me, she gave
way again to the transport of joy which, as she said, she felt in seeing
me again. The ardour of our mutual kisses, given at first under the
auspices of friendship, was not long in exciting our senses to such an
extent that in less than a quarter of an hour I had nothing more to
desire. When it was all over, it became us both, of course, to be, or at
least to appear to be, surprised at what had taken place, and I could not
honestly hesitate to assure the poor countess that it was only the first
token of a constant and true love. She believed it, or she feigned to
believe it, and perhaps I myself fancied it was true--for the moment.
When we had become calm again, she told me the fearful state to which
they were reduced, her brothers walking barefooted in the streets, and
her father having positively no bread to give them.
"Then you have not any lover?"
"What? a lover! Where could I find a man courageous enough to be my lover
in such a house as this? Am I a woman to sell myself to the first comer
for the sum of thirty sous? There is not a man in Venice who would think
me worth more than that, seeing me in such a place as this. Besides, I
was not born for prostitution."
Such a conversation was not very cheerful; she was weeping, and the
spectacle of her sadness, joined to the picture of misery which
surrounded me, was not at all the thing to excite love. I left her with a
promise to call again, and I put twelve sequins in her hand. She was
surprised at the amount; she had never known herself so rich before. I
have always regretted I did not give her twice as much.
The next day P---- C---- called on me, and said cheerfully that his mother
had given permission to her daughter to go to the opera with him, that
the young girl was delighted because she had never been there before, and
that, if I liked, I could wait for them at some place where they would
meet me.
"But does your sister know that you intend me to join you?"
"She considers it a great pleasure."
"Does your mother know it?"
"No; but when she knows it she will not be angry, for she has a great
esteem for you."
"In that case I will try to find a private box."
"Very well; wait for us at such a place."
The scoundrel did not speak of his letters of exchange again, and as he
saw that I was no longer paying my attentions to his mistress, and that I
was in love with his sister, he had formed the fine project of selling
her to me. I pitied the mother and the daughter who had confidence in
such a man; but I had not the courage to resist the temptation. I even
went so far as to persuade myself that as I loved her it was my duty to
accept the offer, in order to save her from other snares; for if I had
declined her brother might have found some other man less scrupulous, and
I could not bear the idea. I thought that in my company her innocence ran
no risk.
I took a box at the St. Samuel Opera, and I was waiting for them at the
appointed place long before the time. They came at last, and the sight of
my young friend delighted me. She was elegantly masked, and her brother
wore his uniform. In order not to expose the lovely girl to being
recognized on account of her brother, I made them get into my gondola. He
insisted upon being landed near the house of his mistress, who was ill,
he said, and he added that he would soon join us in our box. I was
astonished that C---- C---- did not shew any surprise or repugnance at
remaining alone with me in the gondola; but I did not think the conduct
of her brother extraordinary, for it was evident that it was all arranged
beforehand in his mind.
I told C---- C---- that we would remain in the gondola until the opening of
the theatre, and that as the heat was intense she would do well to take
off her mask, which she did at once. The law I had laid upon myself to
respect her, the noble confidence which was beaming on her countenance
and in her looks, her innocent joy--everything increased the ardour of my
love.
Not knowing what to say to her, for I could speak to her of nothing but
love--and it was a delicate subject--I kept looking at her charming face,
not daring to let my eyes rest upon two budding globes shaped by the
Graces, for fear of giving the alarm to her modesty. "Speak to me," she
said at last; "you only look at me without uttering a single word. You
have sacrificed yourself for me, because my brother would have taken you
with him to his lady-love, who, to judge from what he says, must be as
beautiful as an angel."
"I have seen that lady."
"I suppose she is very witty."
"She may be so; but I have no opportunity of knowing, for I have never
visited her, and I do not intend ever to call upon her. Do not therefore
imagine, beautiful C---- C----, that I have made the slightest sacrifice
for your sake."
"I was afraid you had, because as you did not speak I thought you were
sad."
"If I do not speak to you it is because I am too deeply moved by your
angelic confidence in me."
"I am very glad it is so; but how could I not trust you? I feel much more
free, much more confident with you than with my brother himself. My
mother says it is impossible to be mistaken, and that you are certainly
an honest man. Besides, you are not married; that is the first thing I
asked my brother. Do you recollect telling me that you envied the fate of
the man who would have me for his wife? Well, at that very moment I was
thinking that your wife would be the happiest woman in Venice."
These words, uttered with the most candid artlessness, and with that tone
of sincerity which comes from the heart, had upon me an effect which it
would be difficult to describe; I suffered because I could not imprint
the most loving kiss upon the sweet lips which had just pronounced them,
but at the same time it caused me the most delicious felicity to see that
such an angel loved me.
"With such conformity of feelings," I said, "we would, lovely C----, be
perfectly happy, if we could be united for ever. But I am old enough to
be your father."
"You my father? You are joking! Do you know that I am fourteen?"
"Do you know that I am twenty-eight?"
"Well, where can you see a man of your age having a daughter of mine? If
my father were like you, he would certainly never frighten me; I could
not keep anything from him."
The hour to go to the theatre had come; we landed, and the performance
engrossed all her attention. Her brother joined us only when it was
nearly over; it had certainly been a part of his calculation. I took them
to an inn for supper, and the pleasure I experienced in seeing the
charming girl eat with a good appetite made me forget that I had had no
dinner. I hardly spoke during the supper, for love made me sick, and I
was in a state of excitement which could not last long. In order to
excuse my silence, I feigned to be suffering from the toothache.
After supper, P---- C---- told his sister that I was in love with her, and
that I should certainly feel better if she would allow me to kiss her.
The only answer of the innocent girl was to offer me her laughing lips,
which seemed to call for kisses. I was burning; but my respect for that
innocent and naive young creature was such that I only kissed her cheek,
and even that in a manner very cold in appearance.
"What a kiss!" exclaimed P---- C----. "Come, come, a good lover's kiss!"
I did not move; the impudent fellow annoyed me; but his sister, turning
her head aside sadly, said,
"Do not press him; I am not so happy as to please him."
That remark gave the alarm to my love; I could no longer master my
feelings.
"What!" I exclaimed warmly, "what! beautiful C----, you do not condescend
to ascribe my reserve to the feeling which you have inspired me with? You
suppose that you do not please me? If a kiss is all that is needed to
prove the contrary to you, oh! receive it now with all the sentiment that
is burning in my heart!"
Then folding her in my arms, and pressing her lovingly against my breast,
I imprinted on her mouth the long and ardent kiss which I had so much
wished to give her; but the nature of that kiss made the timid dove feel
that she had fallen into the vulture's claws. She escaped from my arms,
amazed at having discovered my love in such a manner. Her brother
expressed his approval, while she replaced her mask over her face, in
order to conceal her confusion. I asked her whether she had any longer
any doubts as to my love.
"You have convinced me," she answered, "but, because you have undeceived
me, you must not punish me."
I thought that this was a very delicate answer, dictated by true
sentiment; but her brother was not pleased with it, and said it was
foolish.
We put on our masks, left the inn, and after I had escorted them to their
house I went home deeply in love, happy in my inmost soul, yet very sad.
The reader will learn in the following chapters the progress of my love
and the adventures in which I found myself engaged.