Chevalier. How the wind has blown your papers about!"

He stooped to pick up the fallen leaves. Casanova did not interfere. He
had moved to the window, and was looking down upon the breakfast table
which had been set on the greensward in the shade of the house. Amalia,
Marcolina, and the three young girls, dressed in white, were at
breakfast. They called up a good-morning. He had no eyes for anyone but
Marcolina, who smiled at him frankly and in the friendliest fashion.
In her lap was a plateful of early-ripe grapes, which she was eating
deliberately.

Contempt, anger, and hatred vanished from Casanova's heart. All he knew
was that he loved her. Made drunken by the very sight of her, he turned
away from the window to find Olivo on hands and knees still assembling
the scattered pages of manuscript from under the table and chest of
drawers. "Don't trouble any further," he said to his host. "Leave me to
myself for a moment while I get ready for the drive."

"No hurry," answered Olivo, rising, and brushing the dust from his
knees. "We shall easily be home in time for dinner. We want to get back
early, anyhow, for the Marchese would like us to begin cards soon after
our meal. I suppose he wants to leave before sunset."

"It doesn't matter to me what time you begin cards," said Casanova, as
he arranged his manuscript in the portfolio. "Whatever happens, I shall
not take a hand in the game."

"Yes you will," explained Olivo with a decision foreign to his usual
manner. Laying a roll of gold pieces on the table, he continued: "Thus
do I pay my debt, Chevalier. A belated settlement, but it comes from a