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.