contemplating her in profile. Yet perhaps it was the illumination which
gave so gloomy a cast to Amalia's features. From the interior of the
house a broad beam of light fell upon the guests. Otherwise the glimmer
in the sky sufficed them. The dark crests of the trees limited the
outlook; Casanova was reminded of the eerie garden in which, late one
evening many years before, he had awaited the coming of his mistress.

"Murano!" he whispered to himself, and trembled. Then he spoke aloud:
"On an island near Venice there is a convent garden where I last set
foot several decades ago. At night, there, the scent is just like this."

"Were you ever a monk?" asked the Marchesa, sportively.

"All but," replied Casanova with a smile, explaining, truthfully enough,
that when he was a lad of fifteen he had been given minor orders by the
archbishop of Venice, but that before attaining full manhood he had
decided to lay aside the cassock.

The Abbate mentioned that there was a nunnery close at hand, and
strongly recommended Casanova to visit the place if he had never seen
it. Olivo heartily endorsed the recommendation, singing the praises
of the picturesque old building, the situation, and the diversified
beauties of the approach.

"The Lady Abbess, Sister Serafina," continued the Abbate, "is an
extremely learned woman, a duchess by birth. She has told me--by letter,
of course, for the inmates are under a vow of perpetual silence--that
she has heard of Marcolina's erudition, and would like to meet her face
to face."