will end well."

Marcolina remained impassive. She seemed to pay no attention to this
talk about Lorenzi, but sat with unruffled countenance, and to all
appearance quietly delighting in the landscape. The road led upwards by
a gentle ascent zigzagging through groves of olives and holly trees.
Now they reached a place where the horses had to go more slowly, and
Casanova alighted to stroll beside the carriage. Marcolina talked of
the lovely scenery round Bologna, and of the evening walks she was
in the habit of taking with Professor Morgagni's daughter. She also
mentioned that she was planning a journey to France next year, in
order to make the personal acquaintance of Saugrenue, the celebrated
mathematician at the university of Paris, with whom she had
corresponded. "Perhaps," she said with a smile, "I may look in at Ferney
on the way, in order to learn from Voltaire's own lips how he has
been affected by the polemic of the Chevalier de Seingalt, his most
formidable adversary."

Casanova was walking with a hand on the side of the carriage, close to
Marcolina's arm. Her loose sleeve was touching his fingers. He answered
quietly: "It matters less what M. Voltaire thinks about the matter
than what posterity thinks. A final decision upon the merits of the
controversy must be left to the next generation."

"Do you really think," said Marcolina earnestly, "that final decisions
can be reached in questions of this character?"

"I am surprised that you should ask such a thing, Marcolina. Though your
philosophic views, and (if the term be appropriate) your religious
views, seem to me by no means irrefutable, at least they must be firmly
established in your soul--if you believe that there is a soul."

Marcolina, ignoring the personal animus in Casanova's words, sat looking
skyward over the tree-crests, and tranquilly rejoined: "Ofttimes, and
especially on a day like this"--to Casanova, knowing what he knew, the
words conveyed the thrill of reverence in the newly awakened heart of a
woman--"I feel as if all that people speak of as philosophy and religion
were no more than playing with words. A sport nobler perhaps than
others, nevertheless more unmeaning than them all. Infinity and eternity
will never be within the grasp of our understanding. Our path leads from
birth to death. What else is left for us than to live a life accordant
with the law that each of us bears within--or a life of rebellion
against that law? For rebellion