I could bear it no longer.  I longed to be alone and to ponder over this strange adventure at my ease, and to think about my visit to Therese at seven o’clock the next morning.  I felt the most intense curiosity to see what the husband would do when he recognized me, and he was certain to do so, for he had looked at me attentively as he spoke.  I felt that my old flame for Therese was rekindled in my heart, and I did not know whether I was glad or sorry at her being married.

I left the opera-house and told my footman to call my carriage.

“You can’t have it till nine o’clock, sir; it was so cold the coachman sent the horses back to the stable.”

“We will return on foot, then.”

“You will catch a cold.”

“What is the prima donna’s name?”

“When she came here, she called herself Lanti, but for the last two months she has been Madame Palesi.  She married a handsome young man with no property and no profession, but she is rich, so he takes his ease and does nothing.”

“Where does she live?”

“At the end of this street.  There’s her house, sir; she lodges on the first floor.”

This was all I wanted to know, so I said no more, but took note of the various turnings, that I might be able to find my way alone the next day.  I ate a light supper, and told Le Duc to call me at six o’clock.

“But it is not light till seven.”

“I know that.”

“Very good”

At the dawn of day, I was at the door of the woman I had loved so passionately.  I went to the first floor, rang the bell, and an old woman came out and asked me if I were M. Casanova.  I told her that I was, whereupon she said that the lady had informed her I was not coming till eight.

“She said seven.”

“Well, well, it’s of no consequence.  Kindly walk in here.  I will go and awake her.”

In five minutes, the young husband in his night-cap and dressing-gown came in, and said that his wife would not be long.  Then looking at me attentively with an astounded stare, he said,

“Are you not the gentleman who asked me my wife’s name last night?”

“You are right, I did.  I have not seen your wife for many years, but I thought I recognized her.  My good fortune made me enquire of her husband, and the friendship which formerly attached me to her will henceforth attach me to you.”

As I uttered this pretty compliment Therese, as fair as love, rushed into the room with open arms.  I took her to my bosom in a transport of delight, and thus we remained for two minutes, two friends, two lovers, happy to see one another after a long and sad parting.  We kissed each other again and again, and then bidding her husband sit down she drew me to a couch and gave full course to her tears.  I wept too, and my tears were happy ones.  At last we wiped our eyes, and glanced towards the husband whom we had completely forgotten.  He stood in an attitude of complete astonishment, and we burst out laughing.  There was something so comic in his surprise that it would have taxed all the talents of the poet and the caricaturist to depict his expression of amazement.  Therese, who knew how to manage him, cried in a pathetic an affectionate voice,—­