When Casanova entered the hall with Olivo, cards had already begun. He acknowledged with serene dignity the effusive greeting of the company, and took his place opposite the Marchese, who was banker. The windows into the garden were open. Casanova heard voices outside; Marcolina and Amalia strolled by, glanced into the room for a moment, and then disappeared.

While the Marchese was dealing, Lorenzi turned to Casanova with ceremonious politeness, saying: “My compliments, Chevalier. You were better informed than I. My regiment is under orders to march tomorrow afternoon.”

The Marchese looked surprised. “Why did you not tell us sooner, Lorenzi?”

“The matter did not seem of such supreme importance.”

“It is of no great importance to me,” said the Marchese. “But don’t you think it is of considerable importance to my wife?” He laughed raucously. “As a matter of fact, I have some interest in the matter myself. You won four hundred ducats from me yesterday, and there is not much time left in which to win them back.”

“The Lieutenant won money from us too,” said the younger Ricardi. The elder, silent as usual, looked over his shoulder at his brother, who stood behind the elder’s chair as on the previous day.

“Luck and women.....” began the Abbate.

The Marchese finished the sentence for him: “.....cannot be constrained.”

Lorenzi carelessly scattered his gold on the table. “There you are. I will stake it all upon a single card, if you like, Marchese, so that you need not wait for your money.”

Casanova suddenly became aware of a feeling of compassion for Lorenzi, a feeling he was puzzled to account for. But he believed himself to be endowed with second-sight, and he had a premonition that the Lieutenant would fall in his first encounter.

The Marchese did not accept the suggestion of high stakes, nor did Lorenzi insist. They resumed the game, therefore, much as on the previous night, everyone taking a hand at first, and only moderate sums being ventured. A quarter of an hour later, however, the stakes began to rise, and ere long Lorenzi had lost his four hundred ducats to the Marchese.

Casanova had no constancy either in luck or ill-luck. He won, lost, and won again, in an almost ludicrously regular alternation.

Lorenzi drew a breath of relief when his last gold piece had gone the way of the others. Rising from the table, he said: “I thank you, gentlemen. This,” he hesitated for a moment, “this will prove to have been my last game for a long time in your hospitable house. If you will allow me, Signor Olivo, I will take leave of the ladies before riding into town. I must reach Mantua ere nightfall in order to make preparations for to-morrow.”

“Shameless liar,” thought Casanova. “You will return here to-night, to Marcolina’s arms!” Rage flamed up in him anew.

“What!” exclaimed the Marchese maliciously. “The evening will not come for hours. Is the game to stop so early? If you like, Lorenzi, my coachman shall drive home with a message to the Marchesa to let her know that you will be late.”

“I am going to ride to Mantua,” rejoined Lorenzi impatiently. The Marchese, ignoring this statement, went on: “There is still plenty of time. Put up some of your own money, if it be but a single gold piece.” He dealt Lorenzi a card.

“I have not a single gold piece left,” said Lorenzi wearily.

“Really?”

“Not one,” asserted Lorenzi, as if tired of the whole matter.

“Never mind,” said the Marchese, with a sudden assumption of amiability which was far from congenial. “I will trust you as far as ten ducats goes, or even for a larger sum if needs must.”

“All right, a ducat, then,” said Lorenzi, taking up the card dealt to him.

The Marchese won. Lorenzi went on with the game, as if this were now a matter of course, and was soon in the Marchese’s debt to the amount of one hundred ducats.

At this stage Casanova became banker, and had even better luck than the Marchese. There remained only three players. To-day the brothers Ricardi stood aside without complaint. Olivo and the Abbate were merely interested onlookers.

No one uttered a syllable. Only the cards spoke, and they spoke in unmistakable terms. By the hazard of fortune all the cash found its way to Casanova. In an hour he had won two thousand ducats; he had won them from Lorenzi, though they came out of the pockets of the Marchese, who at length sat there without a soldo.

Casanova offered him whatever gold pieces he might need. The Marchese shook his head. “Thanks,” he said, “I have had enough. The game is over as far as I am concerned.”

From the garden came the laughing voices of the girls. Casanova heard Teresina’s voice in particular, but he was sitting with his back to the window and did not turn round. He tried once more to persuade the Marchese to resume the game—for the sake of Lorenzi, though he hardly knew what moved him. The Marchese refused with a yet more decisive headshake.

Lorenzi rose, saying: “I shall have the honor, Signor Marchese, of handing the amount I owe you to you personally, before noon to-morrow.”

The Marchese laughed drily. “I am curious to know how you will manage that, Lieutenant Lorenzi. There is not a soul, in Mantua or elsewhere, who would lend you as much as ten ducats, not to speak of two thousand, especially to-day. For to-morrow you will be on the march, and who can tell whether you will ever return?”

“I give you my word of honor, Signor Marchese, that you shall have the money at eight o’clock to-morrow morning.”

“Your word of honor,” said the Marchese, “is not worth a single ducat to me, let alone two thousand.”

The others held their breath. Lorenzi, apparently unmoved, merely answered: “You will give me satisfaction, Signor Marchese.”

“With pleasure, Signor Lieutenant,” rejoined the Marchese, “as soon as you have paid your debt.”

Olivo, who was profoundly distressed, here intervened, stammering slightly: “I stand surety for the amount, Signor Marchese. Unfortunately I have not sufficient ready money on the spot; but there is the house, the estate.....” He closed the sentence with an awkward wave of the hand.

“I refuse to accept your surety, for your own sake,” said the Marchese. “You would lose your money.”

Casanova saw that all eyes were turned towards the gold that lay on the table before him. “What if I were to stand surety for Lorenzi,” he thought. “What if I were to pay the debt for him? The Marchese could not refuse my offer. I almost think I ought to do it. It was the Marchese’s money.”

But he said not a word. He felt that a plan was taking shape hi his mind, and that above all he needed time in which he might become clear as to its details.

“You shall have the money this evening, before nightfall,” said Lorenzi. “I shall be in Mantua in an hour.”

“Your horse may break its neck,” replied the Marchese. “You too; intentionally, perhaps.”

“Anyhow,” said the Abbate indignantly, “the Lieutenant cannot get the money here by magic.”

The two Ricardis laughed; but instantly restrained their mirth.

Olivo once more addressed the Marchese. “It is plain that you must grant Lieutenant Lorenzi leave to depart.”

“Yes, if he gives me a pledge,” exclaimed the Marchese with flashing eyes, as if this idea gave him peculiar delight.

“That seems rather a good plan,” said Casanova, a little absent-mindedly, for his scheme was ripening.

Lorenzi drew a ring from his finger and flicked it across the table.

The Marchese took it up, saying: “That is good for a thousand.”

“What about this one?” Lorenzi threw down another ring in front of the Marchese.

The latter nodded, saying: “That is good for the same amount.”

“Are you satisfied now, Signor Marchese?” enquired Lorenzi, moving as if to go.

“I am satisfied,” answered the Marchese, with an evil chuckle; “all the more, seeing that the rings are stolen.”

Lorenzi turned sharply, clenching his fist as if about to strike the Marchese. Olivo and the Abbate seized Lorenzi’s arm.

“I know both the stones, though they have been reset,” said the Marchese without moving from his place. “Look, gentlemen, the emerald is slightly flawed, or it would be worth ten times the amount. The ruby is flawless, but it is not a large one. Both the stones come from a set of jewels which I once gave my wife. And, since it is quite impossible for me to suppose that the Marchesa had them reset in rings for Lieutenant Lorenzi, it is obvious that they have been stolen—that the whole set has been stolen. Well, well, the pledge suffices, Signor Lieutenant, for the nonce.”

“Lorenzi!” cried Olivo, “we all give you our word that no one shall ever hear a syllable from us about what has just happened.”

“And whatever Signor Lorenzi may have done,” said Casanova, “you, Signor Marchese, are the greater rascal of the two.”

“I hope so,” replied the Marchese. “When anyone is as old as we are, Chevalier de Seingalt, assuredly he should not need lessons in rascality. Good-evening, gentlemen.”

He rose to his feet. No one responded to his farewell, and he went out.

For a space the silence was so intense, that once again the girls’ laughter was heard from the garden, now seeming unduly loud.

Who would have ventured to utter the word that was searing Lorenzi’s soul, as he stood at the table with his arm still raised? Casanova, the only one of the company who had remained seated, derived an involuntary artistic pleasure from the contemplation of this fine, threatening gesture, meaningless now, but seemingly petrified, as if the young man had been transformed into a statue.

At length Olivo turned to him with a soothing air; the Ricardis, too, drew near; and the Abbate appeared to be working himself up for a speech. But a sort of shiver passed over Lorenzi’s frame. Automatically but insistently he silently indicated his rejection of any offers at intervention. Then, with a polite inclination of the head, he quietly left the room.

Casanova, who had meanwhile wrapped up the money in a silken kerchief, instantly followed. Without looking at the others’ faces, he could feel that they were convinced it was his instant intention to do what they had all the while been expecting, namely, to place his winnings at Lorenzi’s disposal.