It was high time for them to go down, for they met Olivo coming up. He was flushed and wore a frown, so that Casanova promptly inferred that the Marchese or the Abbate had roused his suspicions by some coarse jest concerning Teresina’s prolonged absence. His brow cleared when he beheld Casanova on the threshold, standing arm in arm with the girl as if in sport. “I’m sorry to have kept you all waiting, Olivo,” said Casanova. “I had to finish my letter.” He held the missive out to Olivo in proof of his words. “Take it,” said Olivo to Teresina, smoothing her rumpled hair. “Hand it to the messenger.” “Here are two gold pieces for the man,” added Casanova. “He must bestir himself, so that the letter may leave Mantua for Venice to-day. And ask him to tell my hostess at the inn that I shall return this evening.” “This evening?” exclaimed Olivo. “Impossible!” “Oh, well, we’ll see,” observed Casanova affably. “Here, Teresina, take this, a gold piece for yourself.” When Olivo demurred, Casanova added: “Put it in your moneybox, Teresina. That letter is worth any amount of gold pieces!” Teresina tripped away, and Casanova nodded to himself contentedly. In days gone by he had possessed the girl’s mother and grandmother also, and he thought it a particularly good joke that he was paying the little wench for her favors under the very eyes of her father. CHAPTER SEVEN. When Casanova entered the hall with Olivo, cards had already begun. He acknowledged with serene dignity the effusive greeting of the company, and took his place opposite the Marchese, who was banker. The windows into the garden were open. Casanova heard voices outside; Marcolina and Amalia strolled by, glanced into the room for a moment, and then disappeared. While the Marchese was dealing, Lorenzi turned to Casanova with ceremonious politeness, saying: “My compliments, Chevalier. You were better informed than I. My regiment is under orders to march tomorrow afternoon.” The Marchese looked surprised. “Why did you not tell us sooner, Lorenzi?” “The matter did not seem of such supreme importance.” “It is of no great importance to me,” said the Marchese. “But don’t you think it is of considerable importance to my wife?” He laughed raucously. “As a matter of fact, I have some interest in the matter myself. You won four hundred ducats from me yesterday, and there is not much time left in which to win them back.” “The Lieutenant won money from us too,” said the younger Ricardi. The elder, silent as usual, looked over his shoulder at his brother, who stood behind the elder’s chair as on the previous day. “Luck and women.....” began the Abbate. The Marchese finished the sentence for him: “.....cannot be constrained.” Lorenzi carelessly scattered his gold on the table. “There you are. I will stake it all upon a single card, if you like, Marchese, so that you need not wait for your money.”