“Your last?” rejoined Casanova cynically, though he was not altogether unmoved. “I think my friend Olivo would have a word to say about that.” “What you speak of,” said Amalia reddening, “is duty, and even pleasure; but it is not and never has been bliss.” They did not walk to the end of the grass alley. Both seemed to shun the neighborhood of the greensward, where Marcolina and the children were playing. As if by common consent they retraced their steps, and, silent now, approached the house again. One of the ground-floor windows at the gable end of the house was open. Through this Casanova glimpsed in the dark interior a half-drawn curtain, from behind which the foot of a bed projected. Over an adjoining chair was hanging a light, gauzy dress. “Is that Marcolina’s room?” enquired Casanova. Amalia nodded. “Do you like her?” she said--nonchalantly, as it seemed to Casanova. “Of course, since she is good looking.” “She’s a good girl as well.” Casanova shrugged, as if the goodness were no concern of his. Then: “Tell me, Amalia, did you think me still handsome when you first saw me to-day?” “I do not know if your looks have changed. To me you seem just the same as of old. You are as I have always seen you, as I have seen you in my dreams.” “Look well, Amalia. See the wrinkles on my forehead; the loose folds of my neck; the crow’s-feet round my eyes. And look,” he grinned, “I have lost one of my eye teeth. Look at these hands, too, Amalia. My fingers are like claws; there are yellow spots on the finger-nails; the blue veins stand out. They are the hands of an old man.” She clasped both his hands as he held them out for her to see, and affectionately kissed them one after the other in the shaded walk. “To-night, I will kiss you on the lips,” she said, with a mingling of humility and tenderness, which roused his gall. Close by, where the alley opened on to the greensward, Marcolina was stretched on the grass, her hands clasped beneath her head, looking skyward while the shuttlecocks flew to and fro. Suddenly reaching upwards, she seized one of them in mid air, and laughed triumphantly. The girls flung themselves upon her as she lay defenceless. Casanova thrilled. “Neither my lips nor my hands are yours to kiss. Your waiting for me and your dreams of me will prove to have been vain--unless I should first make Marcolina mine.” “Are you mad, Casanova?” exclaimed Amalia, with distress in her voice. “If I am, we are both on the same footing,” replied Casanova. “You are mad because in me, an old man, you think that you can rediscover the beloved of your youth; I am mad because I have taken it into my head that I wish to possess Marcolina. But perhaps we shall both be restored to reason. Marcolina shall restore me to youth--for you. So help me to my wishes, Amalia!” “You are really beside yourself, Casanova. What you ask is impossible. She will have nothing to do with any man.” Casanova laughed. “What about Lieutenant Lorenzi?”