“I am grieved to see you thus.”

“She has no likeness to me.”

“That proves nothing; she has taken after me.  You are weeping, dearest, you will break my heart.”

“Who would not weep in my place?  I will send the duke to you; he must know all.”

I left Lucrezia, and I begged the duke to go and speak to her.  The affectionate Leonilda came and sat on my knee, and asked me what the dreadful mystery was.  I was too much affected to be able to answer her; she kissed me, and we began to weep.  We remained thus sad and silent till the return of the duke and Donna Lucrezia, who was the only one to keep her head cool.

“Dear Leonilda,” said she, “you must be let into the secret of this disagreeable mystery, and your mother is the proper person to enlighten you.  Do you remember what name my late husband used to call you when he petted you?”

“He used to call me his charming Giacomina.”

“That is M. Casanova’s name; it is the name of your father.  Go and kiss him; his blood flows in your veins; and if he has been your lover, repent of the crime which was happily quite involuntary.”

The scene was a pathetic one, and we were all deeply moved.  Leonilda clung to her mother’s knees, and in a voice that struggled with sobs exclaimed,—­

“I have only felt what an affectionate daughter might feel for a father”

At this point silence fell on us, a silence that was only broken by the sobs of the two women, who held each other tightly embraced; while the duke and I sat as motionless as two posts, our heads bent and our hands crossed, without as much as looking at each other.

Supper was served, and we sat at table for three hours, talking sadly over this dramatic recognition, which had brought more grief than joy; and we departed at midnight full of melancholy, and hoping that we should be calmer on the morrow, and able to take the only step that now remained to us.

As we were going away the duke made several observations on what moral philosophers call prejudices.  There is no philosopher who would maintain or even advance the thesis that the union of a father and daughter is horrible naturally, for it is entirely a social prejudice; but it is so widespread, and education has graven it so deeply in our hearts, that only a man whose heart is utterly depraved could despise it.  It is the result of a respect for the laws, it keeps the social scheme together; in fact, it is no longer a prejudice, it is a principle.

I went to bed, but as usual, after the violent emotion I had undergone, I could not sleep.  The rapid transition from carnal to paternal love cast my physical and mental faculties into such a state of excitement that I could scarcely withstand the fierce struggle that was taking place in my heart.

Towards morning I fell asleep for a short time, and woke up feeling as exhausted as two lovers who have been spending a long and voluptuous winter’s night.