Lorenzi and the Marchesa were strolling in the dusk across the greensward.

Marcolina and Amalia were in the hall, setting out the table for cards.
"What is the aim of all this ?" said Casanova to himself, as he stood alone in the garden.

"Do they imagine me to be rich?
Are they on the lookout for plunder ?" These preparations, the ingratiating manners of the Marchese, the sedulous attentions of the Abbate, the appearance of the brothers Ricardi on the scene, were arousing his suspicions.

Was it not possible that Lorenzi might be a party to the intrigue?
Or Marcolina?
Or even Amalia?
For a moment it flashed through his mind that his enemies might be at work upon some scheme of the eleventh hour to make his return to Venice difficult or impossible.

But a moment's reflection convinced him the notion was absurd--were it only because he no longer had any enemies.