Very different was the fire in Amalia's eyes.

To her, Casanova was the same as ever.

To her, his voice was no less seductive than it had been sixteen years earlier.
He could not but be aware that at a word or a sign, and as soon as he pleased, he could revive this old adventure.

But what to him was Amalia at this hour, when he longed for Marcolina as he had never longed for woman before.

Beneath the shimmering folds of her dress he seemed to see her naked body; her firm young breasts allured him; once when she stooped to pick up her handkerchief, Casanova's inflamed fancy made him attach so ardent a significance to her movement that he felt near to swooning.