Her expression of horror had gradually been transformed
into one of infinite sadness, as if it had been not Marcolina's
womanhood alone which had been desecrated by Casanova, but as if during
the night that had just closed a nameless and inexpiable offence had
been committed by cunning against trust, by lust against love, by age
against youth. Beneath this gaze which, to Casanova's extremest torment,
reawakened for a brief space all that was still good in him, he turned
away. Without looking round at Marcolina, he went to the window, drew
the curtain aside, opened casement and grating, cast a glance round the
garden which still seemed to slumber in the twilight, and swung himself
across the sill into the open.
Aware of the possibility that someone in the house might already be
awake and might spy him from a window, he avoided the greensward and
sought cover in the shaded alley. Passing through the door in the wall,
he had hardly closed it behind him, when someone blocked his path. "The
gondolier!" was his first idea. For now he suddenly realized that the
gondolier in his dream had been Lorenzi. The young officer stood before
him.
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