“My dear Casanova, you are an honest man.  I am delighted to have made your acquaintance.”

“You do me too much honour.  I may say that Marcoline will hear nothing of all this.”

When I got back to the inn, I gave Marcoline an exact account of the whole conversation, warning her that she would be supposed to know nothing about it.

“You must execute a masterly stroke, dearest,” said I, “to persuade M. Querini that I did not lie in saying that you had not seen your uncle.  As soon as you see him, you must give a shout of surprise, exclaim, ’My dear uncle!’ and rush to his arms.  This would be a splendid and dramatic situation, which would do you honour in the eyes of all the company.”

“You may be sure that I shall play the part very well, although my heart be sad.”

At the time appointed we waited on the ambassadors, and found that all the other guests had assembled.  Marcoline, as blithe and smiling as before, first accosted M. Querini, and then did the polite to all the company.  A few minutes before dinner Mattio brought in his master’s spectacles on a silver tray.  Marcoline, who was sitting next to M. Querini, stopped short in something she was saying, and staring at the man, exclaimed in a questioning voice,—­

“My uncle?”

“Yes, my dear niece.”

Marcoline flung herself into his arms, and there was a moving scene, which excited the admiration of all.

“I knew you had left Venice, dear uncle, but I did not know you were in his excellency’s service.  I am so glad to see you again!  You will tell my father and mother about me?  You see I am happy.  Where were you yesterday?”

“Here.”

“And you didn’t see me?”

“Yes; but your uncle there . . .”

“Well,” said I, laughing, “let us know each other, cousin, and be good friends.  Marcoline, I congratulate you on having such an honest man for an uncle.”

“That is really very fine,” said M. Querini; and everybody exclaimed, “Very affecting, very affecting indeed!”

The newly-found uncle departed, and we sat down to dinner, but in spirits which differed from those of yesterday.  Marcoline bore traces of those mingled emotions of happiness and regret which move loyal hearts when they call to mind ther native land.  M. Querini looked at her admiringly, and seemed to have all the confidence of success which a good action gives to the mind.  M. Morosini sat a pleased spectator.  The others were attentive and curious as to what would come next.  They listened to what was said, and hung on Marcoline’s lips.

After the first course there was greater unison in the company, and M. Morosini told Marcoline that if she would return to Venice she would be sure of finding a husband worthy of her.

“I must be the judge of that,” said she.

“Yes, but it is a good thing to have recourse to the advice of discreet persons who are interested in the happiness of both parties.”