fell back into his seat. Rising again, he gave the driver a punch in the
back, to make the fellow pull up. But since the carriage did not stop
instantly, the passenger turned round so as not to lose sight of
Casanova, signalled with both hands, and finally called to him thrice by
name, in a thin, clear voice. Not till he heard the voice, did Casanova
recognize who it was. By now the carriage had stopped, and Casanova
smilingly seized two hands outstretched towards him, saying:

"Olivo, is it really you?"

"Yes, Signor Casanova, it is I. You recognize me, then?"

"Why not? Since I last saw you, on your wedding day, you've put on
flesh; but very likely I've changed a good deal, too, in these fifteen
years, though not perhaps in the same fashion."

"Not a bit of it," exclaimed Olivo. "Why, Signor Casanova, you have
hardly changed at all! And it is more than fifteen years; the sixteen
years were up a few days ago. As you can imagine, Amalia and I had a
good talk about you on the anniversary of our wedding."

"Indeed?" said Casanova cordially. "You both think of me at times?"

The tears came to Olivo's eyes. He was still holding Casanova's hands,
and he pressed them fondly.

"We have so much to thank you for, Signor Casanova. How could we ever
forget our benefactor? Should we do so ..."

"Don't speak of it," interrupted Casanova. "How is Signora Amalia? Do