you know, I have been living in Mantua three months, very quietly to
be sure, but taking plenty of walks as I always have done. How is it,
Olivo, that I never met you or your wife before?"

"The matter is simple, Signor Casanova. Both Amalia and I detest the
town, and we gave up living there a long time ago. Would you do me the
favor to jump in? We shall be at home in an hour."

Casanova tried to excuse himself, but Olivo insisted.

"I will take no denial. How delighted Amalia will be to see you once
more, and how proud to show you our three children. Yes, we have three,
Signor Casanova. All girls. Thirteen, ten, and eight--not one of them
old enough yet--you'll excuse me, won't you--to have her head turned by
Casanova."

He laughed good-humoredly, and made as if to help Casanova into the
carriage. The latter shook his head. He had been tempted for a moment
by natural curiosity to accept Olivo's invitation. Then his impatience
returned in full force, and he assured his would-be host that
unfortunately urgent business called him away from Mantua that very
afternoon.

What could he expect to find in Olivo's house? Sixteen years were a long
time! Amalia would be no younger and no prettier. At his age, a girl of
thirteen would not find him interesting. Olivo, too, whom he had known
in old days as a lean and eager student, was now a portly, countrified
paterfamilias. The proposed visit did not offer sufficient attractions
to induce Casanova to abandon a journey that was to bring him thirty or
forty miles nearer to Venice.