tor of the orchestra in the San Samueli
Theatre, where Casanova had been a violinist thirty years before. By
this old acquaintance, and without any advances on his own part, he was
introduced to the company. Most of them were young men, and many of
their names were those which Bragadino had mentioned in the morning as
belonging to persons of suspicious character.

But the name of Casanova did not produce upon his new acquaintances the
effect which he felt himself entitled to anticipate. It was plain that
most of them knew nothing more of Casanova than that, a great many years
ago, he had for one reason or another, and perhaps for no reason at
all, been imprisoned in The Leads; and that, surmounting all possible
dangers, he had made his escape. The booklet wherein, some years
earlier, he had given so lively a description of his flight, had
not indeed passed unnoticed; but no one seemed to have read it with
sufficient attention. Casanova found it amusing to reflect that it lay
within his power to help everyone of these young gentlemen to a speedy
personal experience of the conditions of prison life in The Leads, and
to a realization of the difficulties of escape. He was far, however,
from betraying the slightest trace that he harbored so ill-natured an
idea. On the contrary, he was able to play the innocent and to adopt an
amiable role. After his usual fashion, he entertained the company
by recounting all sorts of lively adventures, describing them as
experiences he had had during his last journey from Rome to Venice. In
substance these incidents were true enough, but they all dated from
fifteen or twenty years earlier. He secured an eager and interested
audience.

Another member of the company announced as a noteworthy item of news
that an officer of Mantua on a visit to a friend, a neighboring
landowner, had been murdered, and that the robbers had stripped him to
the skin. The story attracted no particular attention, for in those days
such occurrences were far from rare. Casanova resumed his narrative
where it had been interrupted, resumed it as if this Mantua affair
concerned him just as little as it concerned the rest of the company. In
fact, being now freed from a disquiet whose existence he had hardly been
willing to admit even to himself, his manner became brighter and bolder
than ever.

It was past midnight when, after a light-hearted farewell, he walked
alone across the wide, empty square. The heavens were vei