begun in just such surroundings as the present. Before his eyes loomed
the forms of the two inmates of the Murano convent who had been friends
in their love for him. In conjunction they had bestowed upon him hours
of incomparable sweetness. When Olivo, in a whisper, began to speak
of the strict discipline imposed upon this sisterhood--once they were
professed, the nuns must never appear unveiled before a man, and they
were vowed to perpetual silence--a smile flitted across Casanova's face.

The Abbess suddenly emerged from the gloom, and was standing in their
midst. In silence she saluted her guests, and with an exaggerated
reverence of her veiled head acknowledged Casanova's expressions of
gratitude for the admission of himself, a stranger. But when Marcolina
wished to kiss her hand, the Abbess gathered the girl in her arms. Then,
with a wave of the hand inviting them to follow, she led the way through
a small room into a cloister surrounding a quadrangular flower-garden.
In contrast to the outer garden, which had run wild, this inner garden
was tended with especial care. The flower-beds, brilliant in the
sunshine, showed a wonderful play of variegated colors. The warm odors
were almost intoxicating. One, intermingled with the rest, aroused no
responsive echo in Casanova's memory. Puzzled, he was about to say a
word on the subject to Marcolina, when he perceived that the enigmatic,
stimulating fragrance emanated from herself. She had removed her shawl
from her shoulders and was carrying it over her arm. From the opening of
her gown came a perfume at once kindred to that of the thousand flowers
of the garden, and yet unique.

The Abbess, still without a word, conducted the visitors between the
flower-beds upon narrow, winding paths which traversed the garden like
a lovely labyrinth. The graceful ease of her gait showed that she was
enjoying the chance of showing others the motley splendors of her