“I shall have to put my steward in another carriage,” said M. Querini, “as the calash only holds two.”

“That will not be necessary,” I remarked, “for Marcoline has her carriage, and Mistress Veneranda will find it a very comfortable one.  It will hold her luggage as well.”

“You, want to give me your carriage,” said Marcoline.  “You are too good to me”

I could made no reply, my emotion was so great.  I turned aside and wiped, away my tears.  Returning to the company, I found that Marcoline had vanished and M. Morosini, who, was also much affected told me she had gome, to speak to Mistress Veneranda.  Everybody was melancholy, and seeing that I was the cause I began to talk about England, where I hoped to make my fortune with a project of mine, the success of which only depended on Lord Egremont.  M. de Morosini said he would give me a letter for Lord Egremont and another for M. Zuccata, the Venetian ambassador.

“Are you not afraid,” said M. Querini, “of getting into, trouble with the State Inquisitors for recommending M. Casanova?”

Morosini replied coldly that as the Inquisitors had, not told him for what crime I was condemned, he did not feel himself bound to share their judgment.  Old Querini, who was extremely particular, shook his head and said nothing.

Just then Marcoline came back to the room, and everybody could see that she had been weeping.  I confess that this mark of her affection was as pleasing to my vanity as to my love; but such is man, and such, doubtless, is the reader who may be censuring my conduct.  This charming girl, who still, after all these years, dwells in my old heart, asked me to take her back to the inn, as she wanted to pack up her trunks.  We left directly, after having promised to come to dinner on the following day.

I wept bitterly when I got to my room.  I told Clairmont to see that the carriage was in good order, and then, hastily undressing, I flung myself on the bed in my dressing-gown, and wept as if some blessing was being taken from me against my will.  Marcoline, who was much more sensible, did what she could to console me, but I liked to torment myself, and her words did but increase my despair.

“Reflect,” said she, “that it is not I who am leaving you, but you who are sending me away; that I long to spend the rest of my days with you, and that you have only got to say a word to keep me.”

I knew that she was right; but still a fatal fear which has always swayed me, the fear of being bound to anyone, and the hypocrisy of a libertine ever longing for change, both these feelings made me persist in my resolution and my sadness.

About six o’clock mm.  Morosini and Querini came into the courtyard and looked at the carriage, which was being inspected by the wheelwright.  They spoke to Clairmont, and then came to see us.

“Good heavens!” said M. Querini, seeing the numerous boxes which she was going to place on her carriage; and when he had heard that her carriage was the one he had just looked at, he seemed surprised; it was indeed a very good vehicle.