he window, from the Grand Canal and the lesser canals, rose the
manifold noises of Venetian life. All other sounds were dominated by the
monotonous shouts of the gondoliers. Somewhere close at hand, perhaps in
the opposite palace (was it not the Fogazzari palace?), a woman with a
fine soprano voice was practising; the singer was young--someone who
could not have been born at the time when Casanova escaped from The
Leads.

He ate rolls and butter, eggs, cold meat, continually excusing himself
for his outrageous hunger, while Bragadino looked on well pleased.

"I do like young people to have a healthy appetite," said the Senator.
"As far as I can remember, my dear Casanova, you have always been a
good trencherman!" He recalled to mind a meal which he and Casanova had
enjoyed together in the early days of their acquaintance. "Or rather, as
now, I sat looking on while you ate. I had not taken a long walk, as
you had. It was shortly after you had kicked that physician out of the
house, the man who had almost been the death of me with his perpetual
bleedings."

They went on talking of old times--when life had been better in Venice
than it was to-day.

"Not everywhere," said Casanova, with a smiling allusion to The Leads.

Bragadino waved away the suggestion, as if this were not a suitable time
for a reference to such petty disagreeables. "Besides, you must know
that I did everything I could to save you from punishment, though
unfortunately my efforts proved unavailing. Of course, if in those days
I had already been a member of the Council of Ten!"

This broached the topic of political affairs. Warming to his theme, the
old man recovered much of the wit and liveliness of earlier days.
He told Casanova many remarkable details concerning the unfortunate
tendencies which had recently begun to affect some of the Venetian
youth, and concerning the dangerous intrigues of which infallible signs
were now becoming manifest.

Casanova was thus well posted for his work. He spent the day in the
gloomy chamber at the inn; and, simply as a means to secure calm after
the recent excitements, he passed the hours in arranging his papers, and
in burning those of which he wished to be rid. When evening fell, he
made his way to the Cafe Quadri in the Square of St. Mark, since
this was supposed to be the chief haunt of the freethinkers and
revolutionists. Here he was promptly recognized by an elderly musician
who had at one time been conduc