"Indeed, Uncle," answered Marcolina, "there was not one of them who
would have ventured to challenge Voltaire to a duel!"

"What, Voltaire? The Chevalier has called him out?" cried Olivo,
misunderstanding the jest.

"Your witty niece, Olivo, refers to the polemic on which I have been at
work for the last few days, the pastime of leisure hours. I used to have
weightier occupations."

Marcolina, ignoring this remark, said: "You will find it pleasantly cool
now for your walk. Goodbye for the present." She nodded a farewell, and
moved briskly across the greensward to the house.

Casanova, repressing an impulse to follow her with his eyes, enquired:
"Is Signora Amalia coming with us?"

"No, Chevalier," answered Olivo. "She has a number of things to attend
to in the house; and besides, this is the girls' lesson time."

"What an excellent housewife and mother! You're a lucky fellow, Olivo!"

"I tell myself the same thing every day," responded Olivo, with tears in
his eyes.

They passed by the gable end of the house. Marcolina's window was still
open; the pale, diaphanous gown showed up against the dark background of
the room. Along the wide chestnut avenue they made their way on to the
road, now completely in the shade. Leisurely, they walked up the slope