He saw her lying in an open coffin, wrapped in a white shroud. But he
was unable to attach to her image any sign of decay, and her unearthly
beauty aroused him to renewed frenzy. Through his closed eyelids he saw
the coffin transform itself into a nuptial bed. Marcolina lay laughing
there with lambent eyes. As if in mockery, with her small, white hands
she unveiled her firm little breasts. But as he stretched forth his
arms towards her, in the moment when he was about to clasp her in his
passionate embrace, the vision faded.
CHAPTER FIVE.
Someone was knocking at the door. Casanova awoke from a heavy sleep to
find Olivo standing before him.
"At your writing so early?"
Casanova promptly collected his wits. "It is my custom," he said, "to
work the first thing in the morning. What time is it?"
"Eight o'clock," answered Olivo. "Breakfast is ready in the garden.
We will start on our drive to the nunnery as early as you please,
Chevalier. How the wind has blown your papers about!"
He stooped to pick up the fallen leaves. Casanova did not interfere. He
had moved to the window, and was looking down upon the breakfast table
which had been set on the greensward in the shade of the house.
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