But a moment's reflection convinced
him the notion was absurd--were it only because he no longer had any
enemies. He was merely an old fellow in reduced circumstances. Who was
likely to take any trouble to hinder his return to Venice? Glancing
through the open window, he saw the company assembling round the table,
where the cards lay ready, and the filled wine-glasses were standing.
It seemed to him clear beyond all possibility of doubt that there was
nothing afoot except an ordinary, innocent game of cards, in which the
coming of a new player is always an agreeable change.
Marcolina passed him, and wished him good luck.
"Aren't you going to take a hand?" he said. "At least you will look on?"
"I have something else to do. Good night, Chevalier."
From the interior, voices called out into the night:
"Lorenzi."--"Chevalier."--"We are waiting for you."
Casanova, standing in the darkness, could see that the Marchesa was
leading Lorenzi away from the open greensward into the greater darkness
under the trees. There she would fain have drawn him into her arms, but
Lorenzi roughly tore himself away and strode towards the house.
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