VENICE - Chapter XI
I Return the Portrait I Had Stolen in Vienna I Proceed to Padua; An
Adventure on My Way Back, and Its Consequences--I Meet Therese Imer
Again--My Acquaintance With Mademoiselle C. C.
I found myself again in my native country with that feeling of
delight which is experienced by all true-hearted men, when they see
again the place in which they have received the first lasting
impressions. I had acquired some experience; I knew the laws of
honour and politeness; in one word, I felt myself superior to most of
my equals, and I longed to resume my old habits and pursuits; but I
intended to adopt a more regular and more reserved line of conduct.
I saw with great pleasure, as I entered my study, the perfect 'statu
quo' which had been preserved there. My papers, covered with a thick
layer of dust, testified well enough that no strange hand had ever
meddled with them.
Two days after my arrival, as I was getting ready to accompany the
Bucentoro, on which the Doge was going, as usual, to wed the
Adriatic, the widow of so many husbands, and yet as young as on the
first day of her creation, a gondolier brought me a letter. It was
from M. Giovanni Grimani, a young nobleman, who, well aware that he
had no right to command me, begged me in the most polite manner to
call at his house to receive a letter which had been entrusted to him
for delivery in my own hands. I went to him immediately, and after
the usual compliments he handed me a letter with a flying seal, which
he had received the day before.
Here are the contents:
"Sir, having made a useless search for my portrait after you left,
and not being in the habit of receiving thieves in my apartment, I
feel satisfied that it must be in your possession. I request you to
deliver it to the person who will hand you this letter.
"FOGLIAZZI."
Happening to have the portrait with me, I took it out of my pocket,
and gave it at once to M. Grimani, who received it with a mixture of
satisfaction and surprise for he had evidently thought that the
commission entrusted to him would be more difficult to fulfil, and he
remarked,
"Love has most likely made a thief of you but I congratulate you, for
your passion cannot be a very ardent one."
"How can you judge of that?"
"From the readiness with which you give up this portrait."
"I would not have given it up so easily to anybody else."
"I thank you; and as a compensation I beg you to accept my
friendship."
"I place it in my estimation infinitely above the portrait, and even
above the original. May I ask you to forward my answer?"
"I promise you to send it. Here is some paper, write your letter;
you need not seal it."
I wrote the following words:
"In getting rid of the portrait, Casanova experiences a satisfaction
by far superior to that which he felt when, owing to a stupid fancy,
he was foolish enough to put it in his pocket."
Bad weather having compelled the authorities to postpone the
wonderful wedding until the following Sunday, I accompanied M. de
Bragadin, who was going to Padua. The amiable old man ran away from,
the noisy pleasures which no longer suited his age, and he was going
to spend in peace the few days which the public rejoicings would have
rendered unpleasant for him in Venice. On the following Saturday,
after dinner, I bade him farewell, and got into the post-chaise to
return to Venice. If I had left Padua two minutes sooner or later,
the whole course of my life would have been altered, and my destiny,
if destiny is truly shaped by fatal combinations, would have been
very different. But the reader can judge for himself.
Having, therefore, left Padua at the very instant marked by fatality,
I met at Oriago a cabriolet, drawn at full speed by two post-horses,
containing a very pretty woman and a man wearing a German uniform.
Within a few yards from me the vehicle was suddenly upset on the side
of the river, and the woman, falling over the officer, was in great
danger of rolling into the Brenta. I jumped out of my chaise without
even stopping my postillion, and rushing to the assistance of the
lady I remedied with a chaste hand the disorder caused to her toilet
by her fall.
Her companion, who had picked himself up without any injury, hastened
towards us, and there was the lovely creature sitting on the ground
thoroughly amazed, and less confused from her fall than from the
indiscretion of her petticoats, which had exposed in all their
nakedness certain parts which an honest woman never shews to a
stranger. In the warmth of her thanks, which lasted until her
postillion and mine had righted the cabriolet, she often called me
her saviour, her guardian angel.
The vehicle being all right, the lady continued her journey towards
Padua, and I resumed mine towards Venice, which I reached just in
time to dress for the opera.
The next day I masked myself early to accompany the Bucentoro, which,
favoured by fine weather, was to be taken to the Lido for the great
and ridiculous ceremony. The whole affair is under the
responsibility of the admiral of the arsenal, who answers for the
weather remaining fine, under penalty of his head, for the slightest
contrary wind might capsize the ship and drown the Doge, with all the
most serene noblemen, the ambassadors, and the Pope's nuncio, who is
the sponsor of that burlesque wedding which the Venetians respect
even to superstition. To crown the misfortune of such an accident it
would make the whole of Europe laugh, and people would not fail to
say that the Doge of Venice had gone at last to consumate his
marriage.
I had removed my mask, and was drinking some coffee under the
'procuraties' of St. Mark's Square, when a fine-looking female mask
struck me gallantly on the shoulder with her fan. As I did not know
who she was I did not take much notice of it, and after I had
finished my coffee I put on my mask and walked towards the Spiaggia
del Sepulcro, where M. de Bragadin's gondola was waiting for me. As
I was getting near the Ponte del Paglia I saw the same masked woman
attentively looking at some wonderful monster shewn for a few pence.
I went up to her; and asked her why she had struck me with her fan.
"To punish you for not knowing me again after having saved my life."
I guessed that she was the person I had rescued the day before on the
banks of the Brenta, and after paying her some compliments I enquired
whether she intended to follow the Bucentoro.
"I should like it," she said, "if I had a safe gondola."
I offered her mine, which was one of the largest, and, after
consulting a masked person who accompanied her, she accepted. Before
stepping in I invited them to take off their masks, but they told me
that they wished to remain unknown. I then begged them to tell me if
they belonged to the suite of some ambassador, because in that case I
should be compelled, much to my regret, to withdraw my invitation;
but they assured me that they were both Venetians. The gondola
belonging to a patrician, I might have committed myself with the
State Inquisitors-a thing which I wished particularly to avoid.
We were following the Bucentoro, and seated near the lady I allowed
myself a few slight liberties, but she foiled my intentions by
changing her seat. After the ceremony we returned to Venice, and the
officer who accompanied the lady told me that I would oblige them by
dining in their company at "The Savage." I accepted, for I felt
somewhat curious about the woman. What I had seen of her at the time
of her fall warranted my curiosity. The officer left me alone with
her, and went before us to order dinner.
As soon as I was alone with her, emboldened by the mask, I told her
that I was in love with her, that I had a box at the opera, which I
placed entirely at her disposal, and that, if she would only give me
the hope that I was not wasting my time and my attentions, I would
remain her humble servant during the carnival.
"If you mean to be cruel," I added, "pray say so candidly."
"I must ask you to tell me what sort of a woman you take me for?"
"For a very charming one, whether a princess or a maid of low degree.
Therefore, I hope that you will give me, this very day, some marks of
your kindness, or I must part with you immediately after dinner."
"You will do as you please; but I trust that after dinner you will
have changed your opinion and your language, for your way of speaking
is not pleasant. It seems to me that, before venturing upon such an
explanation, it is necessary to know one another. Do you not think
so?"
"Yes, I do; but I am afraid of being deceived."
"How very strange! And that fear makes you begin by what ought to be
the end?"
"I only beg to-day for one encouraging word. Give it to me and I
will at once be modest, obedient and discreet."
"Pray calm yourself."
We found the officer waiting for us before the door of "The Savage,"
and went upstairs. The moment we were in the room, she took off her
mask, and I thought her more beautiful than the day before. I wanted
only to ascertain, for the sake of form and etiquette, whether the
officer was her husband, her lover, a relative or a protector,
because, used as I was to gallant adventures, I wished to know the
nature of the one in which I was embarking.
We sat down to dinner, and the manners of the gentleman and of the
lady made it necessary for me to be careful. It was to him that I
offered my box, and it was accepted; but as I had none, I went out
after dinner under pretence of some engagement, in order to get one
at the opera-buffa, where Petrici and Lasqui were then the shining
stars. After the opera I gave them a good supper at an inn, and I
took them to their house in my gondola. Thanks to the darkness of
the night, I obtained from the pretty woman all the favours which can
be granted by the side of a third person who has to be treated with
caution. As we parted company, the officer said,
"You shall hear from me to-morrow."
"Where, and how?"
"Never mind that."
The next morning the servant announced an officer; it was my man.
After we had exchanged the usual compliments, after I had thanked him
for the honour he had done me the day before, I asked him to tell me
his name. He answered me in the following manner, speaking with
great fluency, but without looking at me:
"My name is P----C----. My father is rich, and enjoys great
consideration at the exchange; but we are not on friendly terms at
present. I reside in St. Mark's Square. The lady you saw with me
was a Mdlle. O----; she is the wife of the broker C----, and her
sister married the patrician P----M----. But Madame C---- is at
variance with her husband on my account, as she is the cause of my
quarrel with my father.
"I wear this uniform in virtue of a captaincy in the Austrian
service, but I have never served in reality. I have the contract for
the supply of oxen to the City of Venice, and I get the cattle from
Styria and Hungary. This contract gives me a net profit of ten
thousand florins a year; but an unforeseen embarrassment, which I
must remedy; a fraudulent bankruptcy, and some extraordinary
expenditure, place me for the present in monetary difficulties. Four
years ago I heard a great deal about you, and wished very much to
make your acquaintance; I firmly believe that it was through the
interference of Heaven that we became acquainted the day before
yesterday. I have no hesitation in claiming from you an important
service which will unite us by the ties of the warmest friendship.
Come to my assistance without running any risk yourself; back these
three bills of exchange. You need not be afraid of having to pay
them, for I will leave in your hands these three other bills which
fall due before the first. Besides, I will give you a mortgage upon
the proceeds of my contract during the whole year, so that, should I
fail to take up these bills, you could seize my cattle in Trieste,
which is the only road through which they can come."
Astonished at his speech and at his proposal, which seemed to me a
lure and made me fear a world of trouble which I always abhorred,
struck by the strange idea of that man who, thinking that I would
easily fall into the snare, gave me the preference over so many other
persons whom he certainly knew better than me, I did not hesitate to
tell him that I would never accept his offer. He then had recourse
to all his eloquence to persuade me, but I embarrassed him greatly by
telling him how surprised I was at his giving me the preference over
all his other acquaintances, when I had had the honour to know him
only for two days.
"Sir" he said, with barefaced impudence, "having recognised in you a
man of great intelligence, I felt certain that you would at once see
the advantages of my offer, and that you would not raise any
objection."
"You must see your mistake by this time, and most likely you will
take me for a fool now you see that I should believe myself a dupe if
I accepted."
He left me with an apology for having troubled me, and saying that he
hoped to see me in the evening at St. Mark's Square, where he would
be with Madame C----, he gave me his address, telling me that he had
retained possession of his apartment unknown to his father. This was
as much as to say that he expected me to return his visit, but if I
had been prudent I should not have done so.
Disgusted at the manner in which that man had attempted to get hold
of me, I no longer felt any inclination to try my fortune with his
mistress, for it seemed evident that they were conspiring together to
make a dupe of me, and as I had no wish to afford them that
gratification I avoided them in the evening. It would have been wise
to keep to that line of conduct; but the next day, obeying my evil
genius, and thinking that a polite call could not have any
consequences, I called upon him.
A servant having taken me to his room, he gave me the most friendly
welcome, and reproached me in a friendly manner for not having shewn
myself the evening before. After that, he spoke again of his
affairs, and made me look at a heap of papers and documents; I found
it very wearisome.
"If you make up your mind to sign the three bills of exchange," he
said, "I will take you as a partner in my contract."
By this extraordinary mark of friendship, he was offering me--at
least he said so--an income of five thousand florins a year; but my
only answer was to beg that the matter should never be mentioned
again. I was going to take leave of him, when he said that he wished
to introduce me to his mother and sister.
He left the room, and came back with them. The mother was a
respectable, simple-looking woman, but the daughter was a perfect
beauty; she literally dazzled me. After a few minutes, the over-
trustful mother begged leave to retire, and her daughter remained.
In less than half an hour I was captivated; her perfection delighted
me; her lively wit, her artless reasoning, her candour, her
ingenuousness, her natural and noble feelings, her cheerful and
innocent quickness, that harmony which arises from beauty, wit, and
innocence, and which had always the most powerful influence over me--
everything in fact conspired to make me the slave of the most perfect
woman that the wildest dreams could imagine.
Mdlle. C---- C---- never went out without her mother who, although
very pious, was full of kind indulgence. She read no books but her
father's--a serious man who had no novels in his library, and she was
longing to read some tales of romance. She had likewise a great wish
to know Venice, and as no one visited the family she had never been
told that she was truly a prodigy of beauty. Her brother was writing
while I conversed with her, or rather answered all the questions
which she addressed to me, and which I could only satisfy by
developing the ideas that she already had, and that she was herself
amazed to find in her own mind, for her soul had until then been
unconscious of its own powers. Yet I did not tell her that she was
lovely and that she interested me in the highest degree, because I
had so often said the same to other women, and without truth, that I
was afraid of raising her suspicions.
I left the house with a sensation of dreamy sadness; feeling deeply
moved by the rare qualities I had discovered in that charming girl, I
promised myself not to see her again, for I hardly thought myself the
man to sacrifice my liberty entirely and to ask her in marriage,
although I certainly believed her endowed with all the qualities
necessary to minister to my happiness.
I had not seen Madame Manzoni since my return to Venice, and I went
to pay her a visit. I found the worthy woman the same as she had
always been towards me, and she gave me the most affectionate
welcome. She told me that Therese Imer, that pretty girl who had
caused M. de Malipiero to strike me thirteen years before, had just
returned from Bayreuth, where the margrave had made her fortune. As
she lived in the house opposite, Madame Manzoni, who wanted to enjoy
her surprise, sent her word to come over. She came almost
immediately, holding by the hand a little boy of eight years--a
lovely child--and the only one she had given to her husband, who was
a dancer in Bayreuth. Our surprise at seeing one another again was
equal to the pleasure we experienced in recollecting what had
occurred in our young days; it is true that we had but trifles to
recollect. I congratulated her upon her good fortune, and judging of
my position from external appearances, she thought it right to
congratulate me, but her fortune would have been established on a
firmer basis than mine if she had followed a prudent line of conduct.
She unfortunately indulged in numerous caprices with which my readers
will become acquainted. She was an excellent musician, but her
fortune was not altogether owing to her talent; her charms had done
more for her than anything else. She told me her adventures, very
likely with some restrictions, and we parted after a conversation of
two hours. She invited me to breakfast for the following day. She
told me that the margrave had her narrowly watched, but being an old
acquaintance I was not likely to give rise to any suspicion; that is
the aphorism of all women addicted to gallantry. She added that I
could, if I liked, see her that same evening in her box, and that M.
Papafava, who was her god-father, would be glad to see me. I called
at her house early the next morning, and I found her in bed with her
son, who, thanks to the principles in which he had been educated, got
up and left the room as soon as he saw me seated near his mother's
bed. I spent three hours with her, and I recollect that the last was
delightful; the reader will know the consequence of that pleasant
hour later. I saw her a second time during the fortnight she passed
in Venice, and when she left I promised to pay her a visit in
Bayreuth, but I never kept my promise.
I had at that time to attend to the affairs of my posthumous brother,
who had, as he said, a call from Heaven to the priesthood, but he
wanted a patrimony. Although he was ignorant and devoid of any merit
save a handsome face, he thought that an ecclesiastical career would
insure his happiness, and he depended a great deal upon his
preaching, for which, according to the opinion of the women with whom
he was acquainted, he had a decided talent. I took everything into
my hands, and I succeeded in obtaining for him a patrimony from M.
Grimani, who still owed us the value of the furniture in my father's
house, of which he had never rendered any account. He transferred to
him a life-interest in a house in Venice, and two years afterwards my
brother was ordained. But the patrimony was only fictitious, the
house being already mortgaged; the Abbe Grimani was, however, a kind
Jesuit, and those sainted servants of God think that all is well that
ends well and profitably to themselves. I shall speak again of my
unhappy brother whose destiny became involved with mine.
Two days had passed since I had paid my visit to P---- C----, when I
met him in the street. He told me that his sister was constantly
speaking of me, that she quoted a great many things which I had told
her, and that his mother was much pleased at her daughter having made
my acquaintance. "She would be a good match for you," he added, "for
she will have a dowry of ten thousand ducats. If you will call on me
to-morrow, we will take coffee with my mother and sister."
I had promised myself never again to enter his house, but I broke my
word. It is easy enough for a man to forget his promises under such
circumstances.
I spent three hours in conversation with the charming girl and when I
left her I was deeply in love. As I went away, I told her that I
envied the destiny of the man who would have her for his wife, and my
compliment, the first she had ever received, made her blush.
After I had left her I began to examine the nature of my feelings
towards her, and they frightened me, for I could neither behave
towards Mdlle. C---- C---- as an honest man nor as a libertine.
I could not hope to obtain her hand, and I almost fancied I would
stab anyone who advised me to seduce her. I felt that I wanted some
diversion: I went to the gaming-table. Playing is sometimes an
excellent lenitive to calm the mind, and to smother the ardent fire
of love. I played with wonderful luck, and I was going home with
plenty of gold, when in a solitary narrow street I met a man bent
down less by age than by the heavy weight of misery. As I came near
him I recognized Count Bonafede, the sight of whom moved me with
pity. He recognized me likewise. We talked for some time, and at
last he told me the state of abject poverty to which he was reduced,
and the great difficulty he had to keep his numerous family. "I do
not blush," he added, "in begging from you one sequin which will keep
us alive for five or six days." I immediately gave him ten, trying
to prevent him from lowering himself in his anxiety to express his
gratitude, but I could not prevent him from shedding tears. As we
parted, he told me that what made him most miserable was to see the
position of his daughter, who had become a great beauty, and would
rather die than make a sacrifice of her virtue. "I can neither
support her in those feelings," he said, with a sigh, "nor reward her
for them."
Thinking that I understood the wishes with which misery had inspired
him, I took his address, and promised to pay him a visit. I was
curious to see what had become of a virtue of which I did not
entertain a very high opinion. I called the next day. I found a
house almost bare of furniture, and the daughter alone--
a circumstance which did not astonish me. The young countess had
seen me arrive, and received me on the stairs in the most amiable
manner. She was pretty well dressed, and I thought her handsome,
agreeable, and lively, as she had been when I made her acquaintance
in Fort St. Andre. Her father having announced my visit, she was in
high spirits, and she kissed me with as much tenderness as if I had
been a beloved lover. She took me to her own room, and after she had
informed me that her mother was ill in bed and unable to see me, she
gave way again to the transport of joy which, as she said, she felt
in seeing me again. The ardour of our mutual kisses, given at first
under the auspices of friendship, was not long in exciting our senses
to such an extent that in less than a quarter of an hour I had
nothing more to desire. When it was all over, it became us both, of
course, to be, or at least to appear to be, surprised at what had
taken place, and I could not honestly hesitate to assure the poor
countess that it was only the first token of a constant and true
love. She believed it, or she feigned to believe it, and perhaps I
myself fancied it was true--for the moment. When we had become calm
again, she told me the fearful state to which they were reduced, her
brothers walking barefooted in the streets, and her father having
positively no bread to give them.
"Then you have not any lover?"
"What? a lover! Where could I find a man courageous enough to be my
lover in such a house as this? Am I a woman to sell myself to the
first comer for the sum of thirty sous? There is not a man in Venice
who would think me worth more than that, seeing me in such a place as
this. Besides, I was not born for prostitution."
Such a conversation was not very cheerful; she was weeping, and the
spectacle of her sadness, joined to the picture of misery which
surrounded me, was not at all the thing to excite love. I left her
with a promise to call again, and I put twelve sequins in her hand.
She was surprised at the amount; she had never known herself so rich
before. I have always regretted I did not give her twice as much.
The next day P---- C---- called on me, and said cheerfully that his
mother had given permission to her daughter to go to the opera with
him, that the young girl was delighted because she had never been
there before, and that, if I liked, I could wait for them at some
place where they would meet me.
"But does your sister know that you intend me to join you?"
"She considers it a great pleasure."
"Does your mother know it?"
"No; but when she knows it she will not be angry, for she has a great
esteem for you."
"In that case I will try to find a private box."
"Very well; wait for us at such a place."
The scoundrel did not speak of his letters of exchange again, and as
he saw that I was no longer paying my attentions to his mistress, and
that I was in love with his sister, he had formed the fine project of
selling her to me. I pitied the mother and the daughter who had
confidence in such a man; but I had not the courage to resist the
temptation. I even went so far as to persuade myself that as I loved
her it was my duty to accept the offer, in order to save her from
other snares; for if I had declined her brother might have found some
other man less scrupulous, and I could not bear the idea. I thought
that in my company her innocence ran no risk.
I took a box at the St. Samuel Opera, and I was waiting for them at
the appointed place long before the time. They came at last, and the
sight of my young friend delighted me. She was elegantly masked, and
her brother wore his uniform. In order not to expose the lovely girl
to being recognized on account of her brother, I made them get into
my gondola. He insisted upon being landed near the house of his
mistress, who was ill, he said, and he added that he would soon join
us in our box. I was astonished that C---- C---- did not shew any
surprise or repugnance at remaining alone with me in the gondola; but
I did not think the conduct of her brother extraordinary, for it was
evident that it was all arranged beforehand in his mind.
I told C---- C---- that we would remain in the gondola until the
opening of the theatre, and that as the heat was intense she would do
well to take off her mask, which she did at once. The law I had laid
upon myself to respect her, the noble confidence which was beaming on
her countenance and in her looks, her innocent joy--everything
increased the ardour of my love.
Not knowing what to say to her, for I could speak to her of nothing
but love--and it was a delicate subject--I kept looking at her
charming face, not daring to let my eyes rest upon two budding globes
shaped by the Graces, for fear of giving the alarm to her modesty.
"Speak to me," she said at last; "you only look at me without
uttering a single word. You have sacrificed yourself for me, because
my brother would have taken you with him to his lady-love, who, to
judge from what he says, must be as beautiful as an angel."
"I have seen that lady."
"I suppose she is very witty."
"She may be so; but I have no opportunity of knowing, for I have
never visited her, and I do not intend ever to call upon her. Do not
therefore imagine, beautiful C---- C----, that I have made the
slightest sacrifice for your sake."
"I was afraid you had, because as you did not speak I thought you
were sad."
"If I do not speak to you it is because I am too deeply moved by your
angelic confidence in me."
"I am very glad it is so; but how could I not trust you? I feel much
more free, much more confident with you than with my brother himself.
My mother says it is impossible to be mistaken, and that you are
certainly an honest man. Besides, you are not married; that is the
first thing I asked my brother. Do you recollect telling me that you
envied the fate of the man who would have me for his wife? Well, at
that very moment I was thinking that your wife would be the happiest
woman in Venice."
These words, uttered with the most candid artlessness, and with that
tone of sincerity which comes from the heart, had upon me an effect
which it would be difficult to describe; I suffered because I could
not imprint the most loving kiss upon the sweet lips which had just
pronounced them, but at the same time it caused me the most delicious
felicity to see that such an angel loved me.
"With such conformity of feelings," I said, "we would, lovely C----,
be perfectly happy, if we could be united for ever. But I am old
enough to be your father."
"You my father? You are joking! Do you know that I am fourteen?"
"Do you know that I am twenty-eight?"
"Well, where can you see a man of your age having a daughter of mine?
If my father were like you, he would certainly never frighten me; I
could not keep anything from him."
The hour to go to the theatre had come; we landed, and the
performance engrossed all her attention. Her brother joined us only
when it was nearly over; it had certainly been a part of his
calculation. I took them to an inn for supper, and the pleasure I
experienced in seeing the charming girl eat with a good appetite made
me forget that I had had no dinner. I hardly spoke during the
supper, for love made me sick, and I was in a state of excitement
which could not last long. In order to excuse my silence, I feigned
to be suffering from the toothache.
After supper, P---- C---- told his sister that I was in love with
her, and that I should certainly feel better if she would allow me to
kiss her. The only answer of the innocent girl was to offer me her
laughing lips, which seemed to call for kisses. I was burning; but
my respect for that innocent and naive young creature was such that I
only kissed her cheek, and even that in a manner very cold in
appearance.
"What a kiss!" exclaimed P---- C----. "Come, come, a good lover's
kiss!"
I did not move; the impudent fellow annoyed me; but his sister,
turning her head aside sadly, said,
"Do not press him; I am not so happy as to please him."
That remark gave the alarm to my love; I could no longer master my
feelings.
"What!" I exclaimed warmly, "what! beautiful C----, you do not
condescend to ascribe my reserve to the feeling which you have
inspired me with? You suppose that you do not please me? If a kiss
is all that is needed to prove the contrary to you, oh! receive it
now with all the sentiment that is burning in my heart!"
Then folding her in my arms, and pressing her lovingly against my
breast, I imprinted on her mouth the long and ardent kiss which I had
so much wished to give her; but the nature of that kiss made the
timid dove feel that she had fallen into the vulture's claws. She
escaped from my arms, amazed at having discovered my love in such a
manner. Her brother expressed his approval, while she replaced her
mask over her face, in order to conceal her confusion. I asked her
whether she had any longer any doubts as to my love.
"You have convinced me," she answered, "but, because you have
undeceived me, you must not punish me."
I thought that this was a very delicate answer, dictated by true
sentiment; but her brother was not pleased with it, and said it was
foolish.
We put on our masks, left the inn, and after I had escorted them to
their house I went home deeply in love, happy in my inmost soul, yet
very sad.
The reader will learn in the following chapters the progress of my
love and the adventures in which I found myself engaged.
