out. My astonishment may be imagined when I
read the following correspondence from Pesaro: "M. de Casanova, an
officer in the service of the queen, has deserted after having killed his
captain in a duel; the circumstances of the duel are not known; all that
has been ascertained is that M. de Casanova has taken the road to Rimini,
riding the horse belonging to the captain, who was killed on the spot."

In spite of my surprise, and of the difficulty I had in keeping my
gravity at the reading of the paragraph, in which so much untruth was
blended with so little that was real, I managed to keep a serious
countenance, and I told the prelate that the Casanova spoken of in the
newspaper must be another man.

"That may be, but you are certainly the Casanova I knew a month ago at
Cardinal Acquaviva's, and two years ago at the house of my sister, Madame
Lovedan, in Venice. Besides the Ancona banker speaks of you as an
ecclesiastic in his letter of advice to M. Orsi:"

"Very well, monsignor; your excellency compels me to agree to my being
the same Casanova, but I entreat you not to ask me any more questions as
I am bound in honour to observe the strictest reserve."

"That is enough for me, and I am satisfied. Let us talk of something
else."

I was amused at the false reports which were being circulated about me,
and, I became from that moment a thorough sceptic on the subject of
historical truth. I enjoyed, however, very great pleasure in thinking
that my reserve had fed the belief of my being the Casanova mentioned in
the newspaper. I felt certain that the prelate would write the whole
affair to Venice, where it would do me great honour, at least until the
truth should be known, and in that case my reserve would be justified,
besides, I should then most likely be far away. I made up my mind to go
to Venice as soon as I heard from Therese, as I thought that I could wait
for her there more comfortably than in Bologna, and in my native place
there was nothing to hinder me from marrying her openly. In the mean time
the fable from Pesaro amused me a good deal, and I expected every day to
see it denied in some newspaper. The real officer Casanova must have
laughed at the accusation brought against him of having run away with the
horse, as much as I laughed at the caprice which had metamorphosed me
into an officer in Bologna, just as if I had done it for the very purpose
of giving to the affair every appearance of truth.

On the