ich had
once belonged to Lorenzi. In the village a few children were to be seen
in the streets, but it was plain that the elders were already at work in
the fields. When the houses had been left behind Casanova drew a long
breath. Opening the valise, he withdrew his clothes, and dressed beneath
the cover of the cloak, somewhat concerned lest the coachman should
turn and discover his fare's strange behavior. But nothing of the sort
happened. Unmolested, Casanova was able to finish dressing, to pack away
Lorenzi's cloak, and resume his own.

Glancing skyward, Casanova saw that the heavens were overcast. He had
no sense of fatigue, but felt tense and wakeful. He thought over his
situation, considering it from every possible point of view, and coming
to the conclusion that, though grave, it was less alarming than it might
have seemed to timid spirits. He would probably be suspected of having
killed Lorenzi, but who could doubt that it had been in an honorable
fight? Besides, Lorenzi had been lying in wait, had forced the encounter
upon him, and no one could consider him a criminal for having fought in
self-defence. But why had he left the body lying on the grass like that
of a dead dog? Well, nobody could reproach him on that account. To flee
away swiftly had been well within his right, had been almost a duty. In
his place, Lorenzi would have done the same. But perhaps Venice would
hand him over? Directly he arrived, he would claim the protection of his
patron Bragadino. Yet this might involve his accusing himself of a deed
which would after all remain undiscovered, or at any rate would perhaps
never be laid to his charge. What proof was there against him? Had he
not been summoned to Venice? Who could say that he went thither as a
fugitive from justice? The coachman maybe, who had waited for him half
the night. One or two additional gold pieces would stop the fellow's
mouth.

Thus his thoughts ran in a circle. Suddenly he fancied he heard the
sound of horses' hoofs from the road behind him. "Already?" was
his first thought. He leaned over the side of the carriage to look
backwards. All was clear. The carriage had driven past a farm, and the
sound he had heard had been the echo of his own horse's hoofs. The
discovery of this momentary self-deception quieted his apprehensions for
a time, so that it seemed to him the danger was over. He could now see
the towers of Mantua. "Drive on, man, drive on," he said under his
breath,