At these words which delighted me silence fell on all.  They waited for M. Querini to speak, and the general opinion seemed to be that he had gone too far to be able to draw back.  Nevertheless, the old man kept silence; perhaps in his character of devotee he was afraid of being led into temptation, or of giving occasion to scandal, and the other guests were silent like him, and ate to keep each other in countenance.  Mattio’s hand trembled as he waited; Marcoline alone was calm and collected.  Dessert was served, and still no one dared to say a word.  All at once this wonderful girl said, in an inspired voice, as if speaking to herself,—­

“We must adore the decrees of Divine Providence, but after the issue, since mortals are not able to discern the future, whether it be good or whether it be evil.”

“What does that reflection relate to, my dear daughter?” said M. Querini, “and why do you kiss my hand now?”

“I kiss your hand because you have called me your dear daughter for the fourth time.”

This judicious remark elicited a smile of approval from all, and restored the general gaiety; but M. Querini asked Marcoline to explain her observation on Providence.

“It was an inspiration, and the result of self-examination.  I am well; I have learned something of life; I am only seventeen, and in the course of two months I have become rich by honest means.  I am all happy, and yet I owe my happiness to the greatest error a maiden can commit.  Thus I humble myself before the decrees, of Providence and adore its wisdom.”

“You are right, but, none the less you ought to repent of what you have done.”

“That’s where I am puzzled; for before I can repent; I must think of it, and when I think of it I find nothing for which to repent.  I suppose I shall have to consult some great theologian on the point.”

“That will not be necessary; you are, intelligent, and your heart is good, and I will give you the necessary instruction on the way.  When one repents there is no need to think of the pleasure which our sins have given us.”

In his character of apostle the good M. Querini was becoming piously amorous of his fair proselyte.  He left the table for a few moments, and when he returned he, told Marcoline that if he had a young lady to take to, Venice he should be obliged to leave her in the care of his housekeeper, Dame Veneranda, in whom he had every confidence.

“I have just been speaking to her; and if you would like to come, all is arranged.  You shall sleep with her, and dine with us till we get to Venice, and then I will deliver, you into your mother’s keeping, in the presence of your uncle.  What do you say?”

“I will come with pleasure:” 

“Come and see Dame Veneranda.”

“Willingly.”

“Come with us, Casanova.”

Dame Veneranda looked a perfect cannoness, and I did not think that Marcoline would fall, in love with her, but she seemed sensible and trustworthy.  M. Querini told her in our presence what he had just told Marcoline, and the duenna assured him that she would take, the utmost care of the young lady.  Marcoline kissed her and called her mother, thus gaining the old lady’s, good graces.  We rejoined, the company, who expressed to Marcoline their intense pleasure at having her for a companion on their journey.