Even if, for one reason or another, she were willing to give herself to him in order to preserve the secret of her amours with Lorenzi (he was aware that he was speculating on something beyond the bounds of possibility), a pleasure thus extorted would become for him a nameless torment.

Casanova knew himself to be one whose rapture in a love relationship was a thousandfold greater when conferring pleasure than when receiving it.
Such a victory as he was contemplating would drive him to frenzy and despair.
Suddenly he found himself at the door in the garden wall.

It was locked.
Then Lorenzi had a master-key! But who, it now occurred to him to ask, had ridden the horse he had heard trotting away after Lorenzi had left the card table?
A servant in waiting for the purpose, obviously.
Involuntarily Casanova smiled his approval.

They were worthy of one another, these two, Marcolina and Lorenzi, the woman philosopher and the officer.

A splendid career lay before them.
"Who will be Marcolina's next lover ?" he thought questioningly.