Had
such as Marcolina ever been at his disposal? Doubtless there were women
of that kind. Perchance he had met more than one such woman before.
Always, however, some more willing than she had been available, and he
had never been the man to waste a day in vain sighing. Since not even
Lorenzi had succeeded with Marcolina, since she had rejected the hand of
this comely officer who was as handsome and as bold as he, Casanova, had
been in youth, Marcolina might well prove to be that wonder of the world
in the existence of which he had hitherto disbelieved--the virtuous
woman.
At this juncture he laughed, so that the walls reechoed. "The
bungler, the greenhorn!" he exclaimed out loud, as so often in such
self-communings. "He did not know how to make a good use of his
opportunities. Or the Marchesa was hanging round his neck all the time.
Or perhaps he took her as a next-best, when Marcolina, the philosopher,
the woman of learning, proved unattainable!"
Suddenly a thought struck him. "To-morrow I will read her my polemic
against Voltaire. I can think of no one else who would be a competent
critic. I shall convince her.
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