Through the shimmering haze of noon, a small, square tower now became visible, thrusting upward through the greyish-green foliage. The carriage turned into a by-road. To the left were vineyards rising on a gentle slope; to the right the crests of ancient trees showed above the wall of a garden. The carriage halted at a doorway in the wall. The weather-worn door stood wide. The passengers alighted, and at the master’s nod the coachman drove away to the stable. A broad path led through a chestnut avenue to the house, which at first sight had an almost neglected appearance. Casanova’s attention was especially attracted by a broken window in the first story. Nor did it escape his notice that the battlements of the squat tower were crumbling in places. But the house door was gracefully carved; and directly he entered the hall it was plain that the interior was carefully kept, and was certainly in far better condition than might have been supposed from the outward aspect.
“Amalia,” shouted Olivo, so loudly that the vaulted ceiling rang. “Come down as quickly as you can! I have brought a friend home with me, an old friend whom you’ll be delighted to see!”
Amalia had already appeared on the stairs, although to most of those who had just come out of the glaring sunlight she was invisible in the twilit interior. Casanova, whose keen vision enabled him to see well even in the dark, had noted her presence sooner than Olivo. He smiled, and was aware that the smile made him look younger. Amalia had not grown fat, as he had feared. She was still slim and youthful. She recognized him instantly.
“What a pleasant surprise!” she exclaimed without the slightest embarrassment, hastening down the stairs, and offering her cheek to Casanova. The latter, nothing loath, gave her a friendly hug.
“Am I really to believe,” said he, “that Maria, Nanetta, and Teresina are your very own daughters, Amalia? No doubt the passage of the years makes it possible....”
“And all the other evidence is in keeping,” supplemented Olivo. “Rely upon that, Chevalier!”
Amalia let her eyes dwell reminiscently upon the guest. “I suppose,” she said, “it was your meeting with the Chevalier that has made you so late, Olivo?”
“Yes, that is why I am late. But I hope there is still something to eat?”
“Marcolina and I were frightfully hungry, but of course we have waited dinner for you.”
“Can you manage to wait a few minutes longer,” asked Casanova, “while I get rid of the dust of the drive?”