longer detect in himself any feeling of hatred towards Bragadino. Nay,
he realized that he was rather sorry for this man advanced in years and
grown a trifle foolish, who sat facing him with a sparse white beard and
red-rimmed eyes, and whose skinny hand trembled as he held his cup. The
last time Casanova had seen him, Bragadino had probably been about as
old as Casanova was to-day; but even then, to Casanova, Bragadino had
seemed an old man.

The servant brought in Casanova's breakfast. The guest needed little
pressing to induce him to make a hearty meal, for on the road he had had
no more than a few snacks.

"I have journeyed here from Mantua without pausing for a night's rest,
so eager was I to show my readiness to serve the Council and to prove
my undying gratitude to my benefactor."--This was his excuse for
the almost unmannerly greed with which he gulped down the steaming
chocolate.

Through the window, from the Grand Canal and the lesser canals, rose the
manifold noises of Venetian life. All other sounds were dominated by the
monotonous shouts of the gondoliers. Somewhere close at hand, perhaps in
the opposite palace (was it not the Fogazzari palace?), a woman with a
fine soprano voice was practising; the singer was young--someone who
could not have been born at the time when Casanova escaped from The
Leads.

He ate rolls and butter, eggs, cold meat, continually excusing himself
for his outrageous hunger, while Bragadino looked on well pleased.

"I do like young people to have a healthy appetite," said the Senator.