mes of Leonilda Giacomina at
the baptismal font, and when he played with her he always called her by
the latter name. This idea of your marrying her horrifies me, but I
cannot oppose it, as I am ashamed to tell the reason. What do you think?
Have you still the courage to marry her? You seem to hesitate. Have you
taken any earnest of the marriage-bed?"

"No, dear Lucrezia, your daughter is as pure as a lily."

"I breathe again."

"Ah, yes! but my heart is torn asunder."

"I am grieved to see you thus."

"She has no likeness to me."

"That proves nothing; she has taken after me. You are weeping, dearest,
you will break my heart."

"Who would not weep in my place? I will send the duke to you; he must
know all."

I left Lucrezia, and I begged the duke to go and speak to her. The
affectionate Leonilda came and sat on my knee, and asked me what the
dreadful mystery was. I was too much affected to be able to answer her;
she kissed me, and we began to weep. We remained thus sad and silent till
the return of the duke and Donna Lucrezia, who was the only one to keep
her head cool.

"Dear Leonilda," said she, "you must be let into the secret of this
disagreeable mystery, and your mother is the proper person to enlighten
you. Do you remember what name my late husband used to call you when he
petted you?"

"He used to call me his charming Giacomina."

"That is M. Casanova's name; it is the name of your father. Go and kiss
him; his blood flows in your veins; and if he has been your lover, repent
of the crime which was happily quite involuntary."

The scene was a pathetic one, and we were all deeply moved. Leonilda
clung to her mother's knees, and in a voice that struggled with sobs
exclaimed,--

"I have only felt what an affectionate daughter might feel for a father."

At this point silence fell on us, a silence that was only broken by the
sobs of the two women, who held each other tightly embraced; while the
duke and I sat as motionless as two posts, our heads bent and our hands
crossed, without as much as looking at each other.

Supper was served, and we sat at table for three hours, talking sadly
over this dramatic recognition, which had brought more grief than joy;
and we departed at midnight full of melancholy, and hoping that we should
be calmer on the morrow, and able to take the only step that now remained
to us.

As we were going away the duke made several observations on what moral
philosophers call pr