sixteen years earlier.
He could not but be aware that at a word or a sign, and as soon as he
pleased, he could revive this old adventure. But what to him was Amalia
at this hour, when he longed for Marcolina as he had never longed for
woman before. Beneath the shimmering folds of her dress he seemed to
see her naked body; her firm young breasts allured him; once when she
stooped to pick up her handkerchief, Casanova's inflamed fancy made him
attach so ardent a significance to her movement that he felt near to
swooning. Marcolina did not fail to notice the involuntary pause in
the flow of his conversation; she perceived that his gaze had begun to
flicker strangely. In her countenance he could read a sudden hostility,
a protest, a trace of disgust.

Casanova speedily recovered his self-command, and was about to continue
his reminiscences with renewed vigor, when a portly priest entered.
Olivo introduced him as Abbate Rossi, and Casanova at once recognized
him as the man he had met twenty-seven years earlier upon a market boat
plying between Venice and Chioggia.

"You had one eye bandaged," said Casanova, who rarely missed a chance
of showing off his excellent memory. "A young peasant-woman wearing a
yellow kerchief round her head advised you to use a healing unguent
which an apothecary with an exceedingly hoarse voice happened to have
with him."

The Abbate nodded, and smiled, well-pleased. Then, with a sly
expression, he came quite close to Casanova, as if about to tell him a
secret. But he spoke out loud.

"As for you, Signor Casanova, you were with a wedding party. I don't
know whether you were one of the ordinary guests or whether you
were best man, but I remember that the bride looked at you far more
languishingly than at the bridegroom. The wind rose; there was half a
gale; you began to read a risky poem."

"No doubt the Chevalier only did so in order to lay the storm," said
Marcolina.

"I never claim the powers of a wizard," rejoined Casanova. "But I will
not deny that after I had begun to read, no one bothered about the
storm." The three girls had encircled the Abbate. For an excellent
reason. From his capacious pockets he produced quantities of luscious
sweets, and popped them into the children's mouths with his stumpy
fingers. Meanwhile Olivo gave the newcomer a circumstantial account of
the rediscovery of Casanova. Dreamily Amalia continued to gaze at the
beloved guest's masterful brown forehead.

Th