cards; he knew that the destinies of accused persons, some criminal and
some innocent, hung in the balance.

What had become of Marcolina? Had he not been holding her by the hand
all the time? He rushed down the staircase. The gondola was waiting.
On, on, through the maze of canals. Of course the gondolier knew where
Marcolina was; but why was he, too, masked? That had not been the custom
of old in Venice. Casanova wished to question him, but was afraid. Does
a man become so cowardly when he grows old?

Onward, ever onward. How huge Venice had grown during these
five-and-twenty years! At length the houses came to an end; the canal
opened out; they were passing between islands; there stood the walls of
the Murano nunnery, to which Marcolina had fled.

There was no gondola now; he had to swim; how delightful! It was true
that in Venice the children were playing with his gold pieces. But what
was money to him? The water was now warm, now cold; it dripped from his
clothing as he climbed over the wall.

"Where is Marcolina?" he enquired in the parlor, in loud, challenging
tones such as only a prince would dare to use.

"I will summon her," said the Lady Abbess, and sank into the ground.

Casanova wandered about; he had wings; he fluttered to and fro along the
gratings, fluttered like a bat. "If I had only known sooner that I can
fly," he thought. "I will teach Marcolina."

Behind the gratings, the figures of women were moving hither and