"Dear heart," said I, "you have not shewn me all your perfections till now, when we are about to part; you make me regret you are going back to Venice. Today you won all hearts."
"Keep me then, with you, and I will ever be as I have been to-day. By the way, did you see my uncle?"
"I think so. Was it not he who was in continual attendance?"
"Yes. I recognized him by his ring. Did he look, at me?"
"All the time, and with an air of the greatest astonishment. I avoided catching his eye, which roved from you to me continually."
"I should like to know what the good man thinks! You will see him again to-morrow. I am sure he will have told M. Querini that, I am his niece, and consequently not yours.
"I expect so, too."
"And if M. Querini says as much to me to-morrow, I, expect I shall have to, admit the fact. What do you think?"
"You must undoubtedly tell him the truth, but frankly and openly, and so as not to let him think that you have need of him to return to Venice. He is not your father, and has no right over your liberty."
"Certainly not."