“Perhaps the Chevalier will allow himself to be persuaded to prolong his visit,” said the Abbate, who was contentedly munching a huge mouthful of peach. As he spoke, he glanced at Amalia in a way that led Casanova to infer that his hostess had told the Abbate more than she had told her husband. “I fear that will be quite impossible,” said Casanova with decision. “I need not conceal from friends who are so keenly interested in my fortunes, that my Venetian fellow-citizens are on the point of atoning for the injustice of earlier years. The atonement comes rather late, but is all the more honorable. I should seem ungrateful, or even rancorous, were I to resist their importunities any longer.” With a wave of his hand he warded off an eager but respectful enquiry which he saw taking shape upon his host’s lips, and hastened to remark: “Well, Olivo, I am ready. Show me your little kingdom.” “Would it not be wiser,” interposed Amalia, “to wait until it is cooler? I am sure the Chevalier would prefer to rest for a while, or to stroll in the shade.” Her eyes sought Casanova’s with shy entreaty, as if she thought her fate would be decided once again during such a walk in the garden. No one had anything to say against Amalia’s suggestion, and they all went out of doors. Marcolina, who led the way, ran across the sunlit greensward to join the children in their game of battledore and shuttlecock. She was hardly taller than the eldest of the three girls; and when her hair came loose in the exercise and floated over her shoulders she too looked like a child. Olivo and the Abbate seated themselves on a stone bench beneath the trees, not far from the house. Amalia sauntered on with Casanova. As soon as the two were out of hearing, she began to converse with Casanova in a tone which seemed to ignore the lapse of years. “So we meet again, Casanova! How I have longed for this day. I never doubted its coming.” “A mere chance has brought me,” said Casanova coldly. Amalia smiled. “Have it your own way,” she said. “Anyhow, you are here! All these sixteen years I have done nothing but dream of this day!” “I can’t help thinking,” countered Casanova, “that throughout the long interval you must have dreamed of many other things--and must have done more than dream.” Amalia shook her head. “You know better, Casanova. Nor had you forgotten me, for were it otherwise, in your eagerness to get to Venice, you would never have accepted Olivo’s invitation.” “What do you mean, Amalia? Can you imagine I have come here to betray your husband?” “How can you use such a phrase, Casanova? Were I to be yours once again, there would be neither betrayal nor sin.” Casanova laughed. “No sin? Wherefore not? Because I’m an old man?” “You are not old. For me you can never be an old man. In your arms I had my first taste of bliss, and I doubt not it is my destiny that my last bliss shall be shared with you!”