So cold was his farewell to the fond hostess that, at the carriage door, she whispered a parting word in his ear which was anything but amiable.
During the drive along the dusty road beneath the glare of the noonday sun, Olivo gave a garrulous and somewhat incoherent account of his life since the friends' last meeting.

Shortly after his marriage he had bought a plot of land near the town, and had started in a small way as market gardener.

Doing well at this trade, he had gradually been able to undertake more ambitious farming ventures.

At length, under God's favor, and thanks to his own and his wife's efficiency, he had been able three years earlier to buy from the pecuniarily embarrassed Count Marazzani the latter's old and somewhat dilapidated country seat with a vineyard attached.

He, his wife, and his children were comfortably settled upon this patrician estate, though with no pretence to patrician splendor.
All these successes were ultimately due to the hundred and fifty gold pieces that Casanova had presented to Amalia, or rather to her mother.
But for this magical aid, Olivo's lot would still have been the same.
He would still have been giving instruction in reading and writing to ill-behaved youngsters.