We went down the stair, I helped her into the carriage, and stopped, thinking she would be accompanied by one of her women; but seeing nobody I got in myself.  The door was shut, and we were off.  I was overwhelmed with astonishment.  A treasure like this in my keeping I could hardly think.  I asked myself whether I was to remember that I was a free-lance of love, or whether honour bade me forget it.  Esther, in the highest spirits, told me that we were going to hear an Italian singer whose voice was exquisite, and noticing my confusion she asked what was the matter.  I did not know what to say, and began to stammer out something, but at last succeeded in saying that she was a treasure of whom I was not worthy to be the keeper.

“I know that in other countries a young girl would not be trusted alone with a gentleman, but here they teach us discretion and how to look after ourselves.”

“Happy the man who is charged with your welfare, and happier still he on whom your choice has fallen!”

“That choice is not for me to make; ’tis my father’s business.”

“But supposing your father’s choice is not pleasing to you, or supposing you love another?”

“We are not allowed to love a man until we know he is to be our husband.”

“Then you are not in love with anyone?”

“No, and I have never felt the desire to love.”

“Then I may kiss your hand?”

“Why should you kiss my hand?”

She drew away her hand and offered me her lovely lips.  I took a kiss, which she gave modestly enough, but which went to my heart.  My delight was a little alloyed when she said that she would give me another kiss before her father whenever I liked.

We reached the concert-room, where Esther found many of her young friends—­all daughters of rich merchants, some pretty, some plain, and all curious to know who I was.  The fair Esther, who knew no more than my name, could not satisfy them.  All at once seeing a fair young girl a little way off she pointed her out to me and asked me my opinion of her.  Naturally enough I replied that I did not care for fair girls.

“All the same, I must introduce you to her, for she may be a relation of yours.  Her name is the same; that is her father over there:” 

“M.  Casanova,” said she, speaking to a gentleman, “I beg to introduce to you M. Casanova, a friend of my father’s.”

“Really?  The same name; I wish, sir, you were my friend, as we are, perhaps, related.  I belong to the Naples branch.”

“Then we are related, though distantly, as my father came from Parma.  Have you your pedigree?”

“I ought to have such a thing, but to tell you the truth, I don’t think much of such matters.  Besants d’or and such heraldic moneys are not currency in a mercantile republic.”

“Pedigree-hunting is certainly a somewhat foolish pursuit; but it may nevertheless afford us a few minutes’ amusement without our making any parade of our ancestry.”