ppetite for it, he agreed to the suggestion simply to be rid of her.

As soon as she was gone, he packed his bag with such underclothing and
books as he urgently needed. Then, making his way to the parlor, where
the coachman was enjoying a generous meal, he asked the man whether, for
a sum which was more than double the usual fare, he would with the same
horse drive along the Venice road as far as the next posting station.
The coachman agreed without demur, thus relieving Casanova of his
principal anxiety for the time.

Now the hostess entered, flushed with annoyance, to ask whether he had
forgotten that his breakfast was awaiting him in his room. Casanova
nonchalantly replied that he had not forgotten for a moment, and begged
her, since he was short of time, to take his draft to the bank, and to
bring back the two hundred and fifty lire. While she was hastening to
fetch the money, Casanova returned to his room, and began to eat with
wolfish voracity. He continued his meal when the hostess came back;
stopping merely for an instant to pocket the money she brought him.

When he had finished eating, he turned to the woman. Thinking that her
hour had at length come, she had drawn near, and was pressing up against
him in a manner which could not be misunderstood. He clasped her
somewhat roughly, kissed her on both cheeks, and, although she was
obviously ready to grant him the last favors then and there, exclaimed:
"I must be off. Till our next meeting!" He tore himself away with
such violence that she fell back on to the corner of the couch. Her
expression, with its mingling of disappointment, rage, and impotence,
was so irresistibly funny that Casanova, as he closed the door behind
him, burst out laughing.

The coachman could not fail to realize that his fare was in a hurry, but
it was not his business to ask questions. He sat ready oil the box when
Casanova came out of the inn, and whipped up the horse the very moment
the passenger was seated. On his own initiative he decided not to drive
through the town, but to skirt it, and to rejoin the posting road upon
the other side. The sun was not yet high, for it was only nine o'clock.
Casanova reflected: "It is likely enough that Lorenzi's body has not
been found yet." He hardly troubled to think that he himself had killed
Lorenzi. All he knew was that he was glad to be leaving Mantua farther
and farther behind, and glad to have rest at last.

He fell into a deep sleep, the