The Ricardis expressed their delight at renewing their acquaintance with
the Chevalier, whom, they said, they had met in Paris a good many years
ago.
Casanova could not recall the meeting.
"Perhaps it was in Madrid?" said the Ricardis.
"Maybe," replied Casanova, though he was absolutely certain that he had
never seen either of them before.
The younger of the two was spokesman. The elder, who looked as if he
might be ninety at least, accompanied his brother's words with incessant
nods and grimaces. By now every one had left the table, and before this
the children had disappeared. Lorenzi and the Marchesa were strolling in
the dusk across the greensward. Marcolina and Amalia were in the hall,
setting out the table for cards.
"What is the aim of all this?" said Casanova to himself, as he stood
alone in the garden. "Do they imagine me to be rich? Are they on the
lookout for plunder?"
These preparations, the ingratiating manners of the Marchese, the
sedulous attentions of the Abbate, the appearance of the brothers
Ricardi on the scene, were arousing his suspicions. Was it not possible
that Lorenzi might be a party to the intrigue? Or Marcolina? Or even
Amalia? For a moment it flashed through his mind that his enemies might
be at work upon some scheme of the eleventh hour to make his return to
Venice difficult or impossible.
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