at my ease one of the most beautiful women that it was possible to see.  I had no doubt whatever of her being the person mentioned by my dear C——­ C——­ as teaching her French.  Admiration kept me in a sort of ecstacy, and I never heard one word of their conversation; the beautiful nun, far from speaking to me, did not even condescend to honour me with one look.  She was about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, and the shape of her face was most beautiful.  Her figure was much above the ordinary height, her complexion rather pale, her appearance noble, full of energy, but at the same time reserved and modest; her eyes, large and full, were of a lovely blue; her countenance was soft and cheerful; her fine lips seemed to breathe the most heavenly voluptuousness, and her teeth were two rows of the most brilliant enamel.  Her head-dress did not allow me to see her hair, but if she had any I knew by the colour of her eyebrows that it was of a beautiful light brown.  Her hand and her arm, which I could see as far as the elbow, were magnificent; the chisel of Praxiteles never carved anything more grace fully rounded and plump, I was not sorry to have refused the two rendezvous which had been offered to me by the beauty, for I was sure of possessing her in a few days, and it was a pleasure for me to lay my desires at her feet.  I longed to find myself alone with her near that grating, and I would have considered it an insult to her if, the very next day, I had not come to tell her how fully I rendered to her charms the justice they deserved.  She was faithful to her determination not to look at me once, but after all I was pleased with her reserve.  All at once the two friends lowered their voices, and out of delicacy I withdrew further.  Their private conversation lasted about a quarter of an hour, during which I pretended to be intently looking at a painting; then they kissed one another again by the same process as at the beginning of the interview; the nun closed the opening, turned her back on us, and disappeared without casting one glance in my direction.

As we were on our way back to Venice, the countess, tired perhaps of our silence, said to me, with a smile,

“M——­ M——­ is beautiful and very witty.”

“I have seen her beauty, and I believe in her wit.”

“She did not address one word to you.”

“I had refused to be introduced to her, and she punished me by pretending not to know that I was present.”

The countess made no answer, and we reached her house without exchanging another word.  At her door a very ceremonious curtesy, with these words, “Adieu, sir!” warned me that I was not to go any further.  I had no wish to do so, and went away dreaming and wondering at the singularity of the adventure, the end of which I longed to see.

MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798

To Paris and prison, Volume 2c—­Convent Affairs