A shadowy form was visible against the dark interior.

Marcolina, clad in a white nightdress, was standing at the window, as if to breathe the fragrance of morning.

In an instant, Casanova slipped behind the bench.

Peeping over the top of it, through the foliage in the avenue, he watched Marcolina as if spellbound.

She stood unthinking, it seemed, her gaze vaguely piercing the twilight.