“Would you like to go, Marcoline?”

“‘Con grandissimo piacere’!  We shall speak Venetian, shall we not?”

“Certainly.”

“‘E viva’!  I cannot learn French.”

“M.  Querini is in the same position,” said M. Memmo.

After half an hour’s agreeable conversation he left us, and Marcoline embraced me with delight at having made such a good impression on these gentlemen.

“Put on your best dress to-morrow,” said I, “and do not forget your jewels.  Be agreeable to everybody, but pretend not to see your Uncle Mattio, who will be sure to wait at table.”

“You may be sure I shall follow your advice to the letter.”

“And I mean to make the recognition a scene worthy of the drama.  I intend that you shall be taken back to Venice by M. Querini himself, while your uncle will take care of you by his special orders.”

“I shall be delighted with this arrangement, provided it succeeds.”

“You may trust to me for that.”

At nine o’clock the next day I called on Morosini concerning the commissions he had for me.  He gave me a little box and a letter for Lady Harrington, and another letter with the words,—­

“The Procurator Morosini is very sorry not to have been able to take a last leave of Mdlle.  Charpillon.”

“Where shall I find her?”

“I really don’t know.  If you find her, give her the letter; if not, it doesn’t matter.  That’s a dazzling beauty you have with you, Casanova.”

“Well, she has dazzled me.”

“But how did she know Querini?”

“She has seen him at Venice, but she has never spoken to him.”

“I thought so; we have been laughing over it, but Querini is hugely pleased.  But how did you get hold of her?  She must be very young, as Memmo says she cannot speak French.”

“It would be a long story to tell, and after all we met through a mere chance.”

“She is not your niece.”

“Nay, she is more—­she is my queen.”

“You will have to teach her French, as when you get to London.”

“I am not going to take her there; she wants to return to Venice.”

“I pity you if you are in love with her!  I hope she will dine with us?”

“Oh, yes! she is delighted with the honour.”

“And we are delighted to have our poor repast animated by such a charming person.”

“You will find her worthy of your company; she is full of wit.”

When I got back to the inn I told Marcoline that if anything was said at dinner about her return to Venice, she was to reply that no one could make her return except M. Querini, but that if she could have his protection she would gladly go back with him.

“I will draw you out of the difficulty,” said I; and she promised to carry out my instructions.