It was painful to him to remember that in earlier and better days his own mind had with deliberate, self-complacent boldness moved along the paths whereon Marcolina was now advancing--although in her case there did not seem to exist any consciousness of exceptional courage.

Fascinated by the uniqueness of her methods of thought and expression, he almost forgot that he was walking beside a young, beautiful, desirable woman, a forgetfulness all the more remarkable as the two were alone in the leafy alley, and at a considerable distance from the house.
Suddenly, breaking off in the middle of a sentence, Marcolina joyfully exclaimed, "Here comes my uncle!" Casanova, as if he had to rectify an omission, whispered in her ear: "What a nuisance.

I should have liked to go on talking to you for hours, Marcolina." He was aware that his eyes were again lighting up with desire.
At this Marcolina, who in the spirited exchange of their recent conversation had almost abandoned her defensive attitude, displayed a renewed reserve.

Her expression manifested the same protest, the same repulsion, which had wounded Casanova earlier in the day.
"Am I really so repulsive ?" he anxiously asked himself.

Then, replying in thought to his own question: "No, that is not the reason.