Perotti, but somewhat contemptuously.

Casanova was constrained to admit that he often played cards at the
Baron's house. "For distraction," he explained; "for half an hour's
relaxation before bedtime. In general, I have given up this way of
wasting my time."

"I am sorry," said the Marchese, "for I must own it has been one of the
dreams of my life to cross swords with you. Not only, indeed, at the
card table; for when I was younger I would gladly have been your rival
in other fields. Would you believe it--I forget how long ago it was--I
once entered Spa on the very day, at the very hour, when you left the
place. Our carriages must have passed one another on the road. In
Ratisbon, too, I had the same piece of ill luck. There I actually
occupied the room of which your tenancy had just expired."

"It is indeed unfortunate," said Casanova, flattered in spite of
himself, "that people's paths so often cross too late in life."

"Not yet too late!" exclaimed the Marchese. "There are certain respects
in which I shall not be loath to avow myself vanquished before the
fight begins. But as regards games of chance, my dear Chevalier, we are
perhaps both of us precisely at the age...."

Casanova cut him short. "At the age--very likely. Unfortunately,
however, I can no longer look forward to the pleasure of measuring
myself at the card table with a partner of your rank. The reason is
simple." He spoke in the tone of a dethroned sovereign. "Despite my
renown, my dear Marchese, I am now practically reduced to the condition
of a beggar."