By degrees I told her of the events of her childhood, and how she enchanted all Venice by the grace with which she danced the minuet. She interrupted me by saying that at that time she was only six years old.
“You could not be more,” I replied, “for I was only ten; and nevertheless, I fell in love with you, and never have I forgotten the kiss you gave me by your father’s order in return for some trifling present I made you.”
“Be quiet; you gave me a beautiful ring, and I kissed you of my own free will. You wore the cassock then. I have never forgotten you. But can it really be you?”
“It is indeed.”
“I am delighted to see you again. But I could never have recognized you, and I suppose you would not have recognized me.”
“No, I should not have known you, unless I had heard your name mentioned.”
“One alters in twenty years, you know.”
“Yes, one cannot expect to have the same face as at six.”
“You can bear witness that I am not more than twenty-six, though some evil speakers give me ten years more.”
“You should not take any notice of such calumnies, my dear. You are in the flower of your age, and made for the service of love. For my part, I congratulate myself on being able to tell you that you are the first woman that inspired me with a real passion.”