Olivo, however, was disinclined to take no for an answer. Casanova must
at least accept a lift back to the inn, a kindly suggestion that could
not decently be refused. It was only a few minutes' drive. The hostess,
a buxom woman in the middle thirties, welcomed Casanova with a glance
that did not fail to disclose to Olivo the tender relationship between
the pair. She shook hands with Olivo as an old acquaintance. She was a
customer of Signor Olivo's, she explained to Casanova, for an excellent
medium-dry wine grown on his estate.

Olivo hastened to announce that the Chevalier de Seingalt (the hostess
had addressed Casanova by this title, and Olivo promptly followed suit)
was so churlish as to refuse the invitation of an old friend, on the
ridiculous plea that to-day of all days he had to leave Mantua. The
woman's look of gloom convinced Olivo that this was the first she had
heard of Casanova's intended departure, and the latter felt it desirable
to explain that his mention of the journey had been a mere pretext, lest
he should incommode his friend's household by an unexpected visit, and
that he had, in fact, an important piece of writing to finish during the
next few days, and no place was better suited for the work than the inn,
where his room was agreeably cool and quiet.

Olivo protested that the Chevalier de Seingalt would do his modest home
the greatest possible honor by finishing the work in question there. A
change to the country could not but be helpful in such an undertaking.
If Casanova should need learned treatises and works of reference, there
would be no lack of them, for Olivo's niece, the daughter of a deceased
half-brother, a girl who though young was extremely erudite, had arrived
a few weeks before with a whole trunkful of books. Should any guests
drop in at times of an evening, the Chevalier need not put himself