 Chapter 1 of Marietta, A Maid of Venice. This book has been recorded for LibriVox by Michelle Fry, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Marietta, A Maid of Venice by Francis Marion Crawford. Chapter 1. Very little was known about George the Dalmatian and the servants in the house of Angelo Beroviero, as well as the workmen of the latter's glass furnace, called him Zorzi. Distrusted him, suggested that he was probably a heretic, and did not hide their suspicion that he was in love with the master's only daughter, Marietta. All these matters were against him, and people wondered why old Angelo kept the waif in his service, since he could have engaged any one out of a hundred young fellows of Murano, all belonging to the almost noble cast of the glass-workers, all good Christians, all trustworthy, and all ready to promise that the lovely Marietta should never make the slightest impression upon their respectfully petrified hearts. But Angelo had not been accustomed to consider what his neighbors might think of him or his doings, and most of his neighbors and friends abstained with singular unanimity from thrusting their opinions upon him. For this there were three reasons. He was very rich, he was the greatest living artist in working-glass, and he was of a choleric temper. He confessed the latter fault with great humility to the curate of San Piero each year in Lent, but he would never admit it to anyone else. Indeed, if any of his family ever suggested that he was somewhat hasty, he flew into such an ungovernable rage in proving the contrary that it was scarcely wise to stay in the house while the fit lasted. Marietta alone was safe. As for her brothers, though the elder was nearly forty years old, it was not long since his father had given him a box on the ears which made him see simultaneously all the colors of all the glasses ever made in Murano before or since. It is true that Giovanni had timidly asked to be told one of the secrets for making fine red glass which old Angelo had learned long ago from old Paolo Godi of Pergola, the famous chemist. And these secrets were all carefully written out in the elaborate character of the late fifteenth century, and Angelo kept the manuscript in an iron box under his own bed and wore the key on a small silver chain at his neck. He was a big old man with fiery brown eyes, large features and a very pale skin. His thick hair and short beard had once been red, and streaks of the strong color still ran through the faded locks. His hands were large but very skillful, and the long straight fingers were discolored by contact with the substances he used in his experiments. He was jealous by nature rather than suspicious. He had been jealous of his wife while she had lived, though a more devoted woman never fell to the lot of a lucky husband. Often, for weeks together, he had locked the door upon her and taken the key with him every morning when he left the house, though his furnaces were almost exactly opposite on the other side of the narrow canal, so that by coming to the door he could have spoken with her at her window. But instead of doing this he used to look through a little grated opening which he had caused to be made in the wall of the glass house, and when his wife was seated at her window at her embroidery he could watch her unseen, for she was beautiful and he loved her. One day he saw a stranger standing by the water's edge, gazing at her, and he went out and threw the man into the canal. When she died he said little, but he would not allow his own children to speak of her before him. After that he became almost as jealous of his daughter, and though he did not lock her up like her mother, he used to take her with him to the glass house when the weather was not too hot so that she should not be out of his sight all day. Moreover, because he needed a man to help him, and because he was afraid lest one of his own castes should fall in love with Marietta, he took Zorzi, the Dalmatian wife, into his service, and the three were often together all day in the room where Angelo had set up a little furnace for making experiments. In the year 1470 it was not lawful in Murrano to teach any foreign person the art of glassmaking, for the glassblowers were a sort of nobility and nearly a hundred years had passed since the council had declared that patricians of Venice might marry the daughters of glassmakers without affecting their own rank or that of their children. But Old Biroviaro declared that he was not teaching Zorzi anything, that the young fellow was his servant and not his apprentice, and did nothing but keep up the fire in the furnace and fetch and carry, grind materials and sweep the floor. It was quite true that Zorzi did all these things, and he did them with a silent regularity that made him indispensable to his master, who scarcely noticed the growing skill with which the young man helped him at every turn, till he could be entrusted to perform the most delicate operations in glassworking without any special instructions. Intent upon artistic matters the old man was hardly aware either that Marietta had learned much of his art, or if he realized the fact he felt a sort of jealous satisfaction in the thought that she liked to be shut up with him for hours at a time quite out of sight of the world and altogether out of harm's way. He fancied that she grew more like him from day to day, and he flattered himself that he understood her. She and Zorzi were the only beings in his world who never irritated him now that he had them always under his eye and command. It was natural that he should suppose himself to be profoundly acquainted with their two natures, though he had never taken the smallest pains to test this imaginary knowledge. Possibly in their different ways they knew him better than he knew them. The glasshouse was guarded from outsiders as carefully as a nunnery, and somewhat resembled a convent in having no windows so situated that curious persons might see from without what went on inside. The place was entered by a low door from the narrow paved path that ran along the canal. In a little vestibule, ill-lighted by one small grated window, sat the porter, an uncouth old man who rarely answered questions and never opened the door until he had assured himself by a deliberate inspection through the grating that the person who knocked had a right to come in. Marietta remembered him in his den when she had been a little child, and she vaguely suppose that he had always been there. He had been old then, he was not visibly older now, he would probably never die of old age, and if any mortal ill should carry him off he would surely be replaced by someone exactly like him who would sleep in the same box-bed, sit all day in the same black chair, and eat bread, shellfish, and garlic off the same worm-eaten table. There was no other entrance to the glasshouse, and there could be no other porter to guard it. Beyond the vestibule a dark corridor led to a small garden that formed the court of the building, and on one side of which there were the large windows that lighted the main furnace room, while the other side contained the laboratory of the master. But the main furnace was entered from the corridor so that the workmen never passed through the garden. There were a few shrubs in it, two or three rose bushes, and a small plain tree. Zorzi, who had been born and brought up in the country, had made a couple of flower beds, edged with refuse fragments of colored and iridescent slag, and he had planted such common flowers as he could make grow in such a place, watering them from a disused rain-water cistern that was supposed to have been poisoned long ago. Here Marietta often sat in the shade when the laboratory was too close and hot, and when the time was at hand during which even the men would not be able to work on account of the heat, and the furnace would be put out and repaired, and everyone would be set to making the delicate clay pots in which the glass was to be melted. Marietta could sit silent and motionless in her seat under the plain tree for a long time when she was thinking, and she never told anyone her thoughts. She was not unlike her father in looks, and that was doubtless the reason why he assumed she must be like him in character. No one would have said that she was handsome, but sometimes when she smiled, those who saw that rare expression in her face thought she was beautiful. When it was gone they said she was cold. Fortunately her hair was not red as her father's had been, or she might sometimes have seemed positively ugly. It was of that deep, ruddy, golden brown that one may often see in Venice still, and there was an abundance of it, though it was drawn straight back from her white forehead and braided into the smallest possible space in the fashion of that time. There was often a little color in her face, though never much, and it was faint yet very fresh like the tint within certain delicate shells. Her lips were of the same hue, but stronger and brighter, and they were very well shaped and generally closed like her father's. But her eyes were not like his, and the lids and lashes shaded them in such a way that it was hard to guess their color, and they had an inscrutable, reserved look that was hard to meet for many seconds. Zorzi believed that they were gray, but when he saw them in his dreams they were violet, and one day she opened them wide for an instant as something old Baraviero said to her, and then Zorzi fancied that they were like sapphires, but before he could be sure, the lids and lashes shaded them again, and he only knew that they were there, and longed to see them, for her father had spoken of her marriage, and she had not answered a single word. When they were alone together for a moment, while the old man was searching for more materials in the next room, she spoke to Zorzi. Her father did not mean you to hear that, she said. Nevertheless, I heard, answered Zorzi, pushing a small piece of beech wood into the fire through a narrow slit on one side of the brook furnace. It was not my fault. Forget that you heard it, said Marietta quietly, and as her father entered the room again she passed him and went out into the garden. But Zorzi did not even try to forget the name of the man whom Baraviero appeared to have chosen for his daughter. He tried instead to understand why Marietta wished him not to remember that the name was Giacoppo Contorini. He glanced sideways at the girl's figure as she disappeared through the door, and he thoughtfully pushed another piece of wood into the fire. Some day, perhaps before long, she would marry this man who had been mentioned, and then Zorzi would be alone with old Baraviero in the laboratory. He set his teeth and poked the fire with an iron rod. It happened now and then that Marietta did not come to the glass house. Those days were long, and when night came, Zorzi felt as if his heart were turning into a hot stone in his breast, and his sight was dull, and he ached from his work and felt scorched by the heat of the furnace. For he was not very strong of limb, though he was quick with his hands and of a very tenacious nature, able to endure pain as well as weariness when he was determined to finish what he had begun. But while Marietta was in the laboratory, nothing could tire him nor hurt him, nor make him wish that the hours were less long. He thought therefore of what must happen to him if Giacoppo Contorini took Marietta away from Moreno to live in a palace in Venice, and he determined at least to find out what sort of man this might be who was to receive for his own the only woman in the world for whose sake it would be perfect happiness to be burned with a slow fire. He did not mean to do Contorini any harm. Perhaps Marietta already loved the man and was glad she was to marry him. No one could have told what she felt even from that one flashing look she had given her father. Zorzi did not try to understand her yet. He only loved her, and she was his master's daughter, and if his master found out his secret, it would be a very evil day for him. So he poked the fire with his iron rod and set his teeth and said nothing, while old Baroviaro moved about the room. Zorzi, said the master presently, I meant you to hear what I said to my daughter. I heard, sir, answered the young man, rising respectfully and waiting for more. Remember the name you heard, said Baroviaro. If the matter had been any other in the world, Zorzi would have smiled at the master's words because they bade him to do just what Marietta had forbidden. The one said forget, the other remember. For the first time in his life, Zorzi found it easier to obey her lady's father than herself. He bent his head respectfully. I trust you, Zorzi, continued Baroviaro, slowly mixing some materials in a little wooden trough on the table. I trust you because I must trust someone in order to have a safe means of communicating with Casa Contorini. Again, Zorzi bent his head, but still he said nothing. These five years you have worked with me in private, the old man went on, and I know that you have not told what you have seen me do, though there are many who would pay you good money to know what I have been about. That is true, answered Zorzi. Yes, I therefore judge that you are one of those unusual beings whom God has sent into the world to be of use to their fellow creatures instead of a hindrance. For you possess the power of holding your tongue, which I had almost believed to be extinct in the human race. I am going to send you on an errand to Venice to Jacopo Contorini. If I sent anyone from my house, all Marana would know it tomorrow morning, but I wish no one here to guess where you have been. No one shall see me, answered Zorzi, tell me only where I am to go. You know Venice well by this time, you must have often passed the House of Unused Dei by the Baker's Bridge. Yes, go there alone tonight and ask for Mr. Jacopo. And if the porter inquires your business, say that you have a message and a token from a certain Angelo. When you are admitted and are alone with Mr. Jacopo, tell him from me to go and stand by the second pillar on the left in St. Mark's on Sunday next, an hour before noon, until he sees me. And within a week after that he shall have the answer and bid him be silent if he would succeed. Is that all, sir? That is all. If he gives you any message and answer, deliver it to me tomorrow when my daughter is not here. And the token, inquired Zorzi, this glass seal of which he already has an impression in wax in case he should doubt you. Zorzi took the little leaden bag which contained the seal. He tied a piece of string to it and hung it round his neck so that it was hidden in his doublet like a charm or a scapulary. Baroviero watched him and nodded in approval. Do not start before it is quite dark, he said. Take the little skiff. The water will be high two hours before midnight so you will have no trouble in getting across. When you come back, come here and tell the porter that I have ordered you to see that my fire is properly kept up. Then go to sleep in the coolest place you can find. After Baroviero had given him these orders, Zorzi had plenty of time for reflection for his master said nothing more and became absorbed in his work, weighing out portions of different ingredients and slowly mixing each with the colored earths and the chemicals that were already in the wooden trough. There was nothing to do but to tend the fire and Zorzi pushed in the pieces of history and beech wood with his usual industrious regularity. It was the only part of his work which he hated and when he was obliged to do nothing else he usually sought consolation in dreaming of a time when he himself should be a master glass glower and artist whom it would be almost an honor for a young man to serve even in such a humble way. He did not know how this was to happen since there were strict laws against teaching the art to foreigners and also against allowing any foreign person to establish a furnace at Moreno. And the glass works had long been altogether banished from Venice on account of the danger of fire at a time when two-thirds of the houses were of wood. But meanwhile Zorzi had learned the art in spite of the law and he hoped in time to overcome the other obstacles that opposed him. There was strength of purpose in every line of his keen young face, strength to endure, to forgo, to suffer in silence for an ardently desired. The dark brown hair grew somewhat far back from his pale forehead. The features were youthfully sharp and clearly drawn and deep neutral shadows gave a look of almost passionate sadness to the black eyes. There was quick perception, imagination, love of art for its own sake in the upper part of the face, its strength lay in the well-built jaw and firm lips and a little in the graceful and assured poise of the head. Zorzi was not tall but he was shapely and moved without effort. His eyes were sadder than usual now as he tended the fire in the silence that was broken only by the low roar of the flames within the brick furnace and the irregular sound of the master's wooden instrument as he crushed and stirred the materials together. Zorzi had longed to see Contorini as soon as he had heard his name and having unexpectedly obtained the certainty of seeing him that very night he wished that the moment could be put off. He felt cold and hot. He wondered how he should behave and whether after all he might not be tempted to do his enemies some bodily harm. For in a few minutes the aspect of his world had changed and Contorini's unknown figure filled the future. Until today he had never seriously thought of Marietta's marriage nor of what would happen to him afterwards but now he was to be one of the instruments for bringing the marriage about. He knew well enough what the appointment in Saint Mark's meant. Marietta was to have an opportunity of seeing Contorini before accepting him. Even that was something of a concession in those times but Beraviero fancied that he loved his child too much to marry her against her will. This was probably a great match for the glassworker's daughter however and she would not refuse it. Contorini had never seen her either. He might have heard that she was a pretty girl but there were famous beauties in Venice and if he wanted Marietta Beraviero it could only be for her dowry. The marriage was therefore a mere bargain between the two men in which a name was bartered for a fortune and a fortune for a name. Zorzi saw how absurd it was to suppose that Marietta could care for a man whom she had never even seen and worse than that he guessed in a flash of loving intuition how wretchedly unhappy she might be with him and he hated and despised the errand he was to perform. The future seemed to reveal itself to him with the long martyrdom of the woman he loved and he felt an almost irresistible desire to go to her and implore her to refuse to be sold. Nine-tenths of the marriages he had ever heard of in Moreno or Venice had been made in this way and in a moment's reflection he realized the folly of appealing even to the girl herself who doubtless looked upon the whole proceeding as perfectly natural. She had of course expected such an event ever since she had been a child, she was prepared to accept it, and she only hoped that her husband might turn out to be young, handsome, and noble since she did not want money. A moment later Zorzi included all marriageable young women in one sweeping condemnation. They were all hard-hearted, mercenary, vain, deceitful, anything that suggested itself to his headlong resentment. Art was the only thing worth living and dying for, the world was full of women and they were all alike, old, young, ugly, and handsome, all a pack of heartless jades, but Art was one. Beautiful, true, deathless, and unchanging. He looked up from the furnace door and he felt the blood rush to his face. Marietta was standing near and watching him with her strangely veiled eyes. Poor Zorzi, she exclaimed in a soft voice. How hot you look! He did not remember that he had ever cared a straw whether anyone noticed that he was hot or not, until that moment, but for some complicated reason connected with his own thoughts the remark stung him like an insult and fully confirmed his recent verdict concerning women in general and their total lack of all human kindness where men were concerned. He rose to his feet suddenly and turned away without a word. Come out into the garden, said Marietta. Do you need Zorzi just now? She asked, turning to her father, who only shook his head by way of answer, for he was very busy. But I assure you that I am not too hot, answered Zorzi. Why should I go out? Because I want you to fasten up one of the branches of the red rose. It catches in my skirt every time I pass. You will need a hammer and a little nail. She had not been thinking of his comfort after all, thought Zorzi as he got the hammer. She had only wanted something done for herself. He might have known it. But for the rose that caught in her skirt he might have roasted alive at the furnace before she would have noticed that he was hot. He followed her out. She led him to the end of the walk, farthest from the door of the laboratory. This sun was low and all the little garden was in deep shade. A branch of the rose bush lay across the path, and Zorzi thought it looked very much as if it had been pulled down on purpose. She pointed to it and as he carefully lifted it from the ground she spoke quickly in the low tone. What was my father saying to you a little while ago? Zorzi held up the branch in his hand, ready to fasten it against the wall and looked at her. He saw at a glance that she had brought him out to ask the question. The master was giving me certain orders, he said. He rarely makes such long speeches when he gives orders, observed the girl. His instructions were very particular. Will you not tell me what they were? Zorzi turned slowly from her and let the long branch rest on the bush while he began to drive a nail into the wall. Marietta watched him. Why do you not answer me? She asked. Because I cannot. He said briefly. Because you will not, you mean? As you choose, Zorzi went on striking the nail. I am sorry, answered the young girl. I really wish to know very much. Besides, if you will tell me, I will give you something. Zorzi turned upon her suddenly with angry eyes. If money could buy your father's secrets from me, I should be a rich man by this time. I think I know as much of my father's secrets as you do, answered Marietta more coldly. I did not mean to offer you money. What then? But as he asked the question, Zorzi turned away again and began to fasten the branch. Marietta did not answer at once, but she idly picked a rose from the bush and put it to her lips to breathe in its freshness. Why should you think I meant to insult you? She asked gently. I am only a servant after all, answered Zorzi with unnecessary bitterness. Why should you not insult your servants, if you please? It would be quite natural. Would it? Even if you were really a servant? It seems quite natural to you that I should betray your father's confidence. I do not see much difference between taking it for granted that a man is a traitor and offering him money to act as one. No, said Marietta, smelling the rose from time to time, as she spoke, there is not much difference, but I did not mean to hurt your feelings. You did not realize that I could have any, I fancy, retorted Zorzi still angry. Perhaps I did not understand that you would consider what my father was telling you in the same light as the secret of the art, said Marietta slowly. Nor that you would look upon what I meant to offer you as a bribe. The matter concerned me, did it not? Your name was not spoken. I have fastened the branch. Is there anything else for me to do? Have you no curiosity to know what I would have given you? Asked Marietta. I should be ashamed to want anything at such a price. Returned Zorzi proudly. You hold your honor high, even in trifles. It is all I have, my honor and my art. You care for nothing else? Nothing else in the whole world? Nothing, said Zorzi. Ah, you must be very lonely in your thoughts, she said, and turned away. As she went slowly along the path her hand hung by her side and the rose she held fell from her fingers. Following her at a short distance on his way back to the laboratory, Zorzi stooped and picked up the flower, not thinking that she would turn her head. But at that moment she had reached the door and she looked back and saw what he had done. She stood still and held out her hand, expecting him to come up with her. My rose, she exclaimed, as if surprised. Give it back to me. Zorzi gave it to her, and the color came to his face a second time. She fastened it in her bodice, looking down at it as she did so. I am so fond of roses, she said, smiling a little. Are you? I planted all those you have here, he answered. Yes, I know. She looked up as she spoke and met his eyes, and all at once she left. Not unkindly, nor as if at him, nor at what he had said, but quietly and happily as women do when they have got what they want. Zorzi did not understand. You are gay, he said, Coley. Do you wonder, she asked, if you knew what I know you would understand. But I do not. Zorzi went back to his furnace. Marietta exchanged a few words with her father and left the room again to go home. In the garden she paused a moment by the rose bush, where she had talked with Zorzi, but there was not even the shadow of a smile in her face now. She went down the dark corridor and called the porter, who roused himself, opened the door and hailed the house opposite. A woman looked out in the evening light, nodded and disappeared. A few seconds later she came out of the house, a quiet little middle-aged creature in brown, with intelligent eyes, and she crossed the shaky wooden bridge over the canal to come and bring Marietta home. It would have been a scandalous thing if the daughter of Angelo Beroviero had been seen by the neighbors to walk a score of paces in the street without an attendant. She had thrown a hood of dark green cloth over her head and the folds hung below her shoulders, half hiding her graceful figure. Her step was smooth and deliberate, while the little brown serving woman trotted beside her across the wooden bridge. The house of Angelo Beroviero hung over the paved way above the edge of the water, the upper story being supported by six stone columns and massive wooden beams forming a sort of portico, which was at the same time a public thoroughfare, but as the house was not far from the end of the canal of San Piero, which opens towards Venice, few people passed that way. Marietta paused a moment while the woman held the door open for her, the sun had just set and the salt freshness that comes with the rising tide was already in the air. I wish I were in Venice this evening, she said, almost to herself. The serving woman looked at her suspiciously. End of chapter one. Chapter two of Marietta, a maid of Venice by Francis Marion Crawford. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Michelle Frye Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Chapter two. The June night was dark and warm as Zorzi pushed off from the steps before his master's house and guided his skiff through the canal, scarcely moving the single oar as the rising tide took his boat silently along. It was not until he had passed the last of the glass houses on his right and was already in the lagoon that separates Murano from Venice that he began to row gently at first, for fear of being heard by someone ashore, and then more quickly, swinging his oar in the curved crutch with that skillful serpentine stroke, which is neither rowing nor sculling, but which has all the advantages of both, for it is swift and silent and needs scarcely to be slackened, even in a channel so narrow that the boat itself can barely pass. Now that he was away from the houses, the stars came out and he felt the pleasant land breeze in his face meeting the rising tide. Not a boat was out upon the shallow lagoon but his own, not a sound came from the town behind him, but as the flat bow of the skiff gently slept the water, it plashed and purled with every stroke of the oar, and a faint murmur of voices in song was born to him on the wind from the still waking city. He stood upright on the high stern of the shadowy craft, himself but a moving shadow in the starlight, thrown forward now and now once more erect in changing motion, and as he moved the same thought came back and back again in a sort of halting and painful rhythm. He was out that night on a bad errand, it said, helping to sell the life of the woman he loved, and what he was doing could never be undone. Again and again the words said themselves, the far off voices said them, the lapping water took them up and repeated them, the breeze whispered them quickly as it passed, the oar pronounced them as it creaked softly in the crutch rollock, the stars spelled out the sentences in the sky, the lights of Venice wrote them in the water in broken reflections. He was not alone any more, for everything in heaven and earth was crying to him to go back. That was folly, and he knew it. The master who had trusted him would drive him out of his house and out of Venetian land and water too, if he chose, and he should never see Marietta again, and she would be married to Cantorini just as if Zorzi had taken the message. Besides, it was the custom of the world everywhere, so far as he knew that marriage and money should be spoken of in the same breath, and there was no reason why his master should make an exception and be different from other men. He could put some hindrance in the way, of course, if he chose to interfere, for he could deliver the message wrong, and Cantorini would go to the church in the afternoon instead of in the morning. He smiled grimly in the dark as he thought of the young nobleman waiting for an hour or two beside the pillar to be looked at by someone who never came, then catching sight at last of some ugly old maid of Forte protected by her servant, ogling him, while she said her prayers and filling him with horror at the thought that she must be Marietta Bero Vero. All that might happen, but it must inevitably be found out the misunderstanding would be cleared away and the marriage would be arranged after all. He had rested on his oar to think, and now he struck it deep into the black water and the skiff shot ahead. He would have a far better chance of serving Marietta in the future if he obeyed his master and delivered his message exactly, for he should see Cantorini himself and judge of him in the first place, and that alone was worth much, and afterwards there would be time enough for desperate resolutions. He hastened his stroke, and when he ran under the shadow of the overhanging houses his mood changed, and he grew hopeful, as many young men do, out of sheer curiosity as to what was before him, and out of the wish to meet something or somebody that should put his own strength to the test. It was not far now. With infinite caution he threaded the dark canals, thanking fortune for the faint starlight that showed him the turnings. Here and there a small oil lamp burned before the image of a saint. From a narrow lane on one side the light streamed across the water, and with it came sounds of ringing glasses and the tinkling of a lute and laughing voices. Then it was dark again as his skiff shot by, and he made haste, for he wished not to be seen. Presently, and somewhat to his surprise, he saw Agandala before him in a narrow place, rode slowly by a man who seemed to be in black like himself. He did not try to pass it, but kept a little astern, trying not to attract attention, and hoping that it would turn aside into another canal. But it went steadily on before him, turning wherever he must turn, till it stopped where he was to stop, at the water gate of the house of the unused day. Instantly he brought two in the shadow with the instinctive caution of everyone who is used to the water. Gondolas were few in those days, and belonged only to the rich, who had just begun to use them as a means of getting about quickly, much more convenient than horses or mules, for when riding a man often had to go far out of his way to reach a bridge, and there were many canals that had no bridal path at all, and where the wooden houses were built straight down into the water as the stone ones are today. Zorzi peered through the darkness and listened. The occupant of the gondola might be Contarini himself coming home. Whoever it was tapped softly upon the door, which was instantly opened, but to Zorzi's surprise no light shone from the entrance. All the house above was still and dark, and he could barely make out by the starlight the piece of white marble bearing the sculptured unused day, whence the house takes its name. He knew that above the high balcony there were graceful columns, bearing pointed stone arches, between which are the symbols of the four evangelists, but he could see nothing of them. Only on the balcony he fancied he saw something less dark than the wall, or the sky, and which might be a woman's dress. Someone got out of the gondola and went in after speaking a few words in a low tone, and the door was then shut without noise. The gondola glided on under the baker's bridge, but Zorzi could not see whether it went further or not. He thought he heard the sound of the oar as if it were going away. Coming alongside the step he knocked gently as the last comer had done, and the door opened again. He had already made his skiff fast to the step. Your business here, asked a muffled voice out of the dark. Zorzi felt that a number of persons were in the hall immediately behind the speaker. For the Lord Jacopo Contarini, he answered, I have a message and a token to deliver. From whom? I will tell that to his lordship, replied Zorzi. I am Contarini, replied the voice, and the speaker felt for Zorzi's face in the darkness and brought it near his ear. From Angelo, whispered Zorzi, so softly that Contarini only heard the last word. The door was now shut as noiselessly as before, but not by Contarini himself. He still kept his hold on Zorzi's arm. The token, he whispered impatiently. Zorzi pulled the little leather bag out of his doublet, slipped the string over his head and thrust the token into Contarini's hand. The latter uttered a low exclamation of surprise. What is this? he asked. The token, answered Zorzi. He had scarcely spoken when he felt Contarini's arms around him holding him fast. He was wise enough to make no attempt to escape from him. Friends, said Contarini quickly, the man who just came in is a spy. I am holding him. Help me! It seemed to Zorzi that a hundred hands seized him in the dark by the arms, by the legs, by the body, by the head. He knew that resistance was worse than useless. There were hands at his throat, too. Let us do nothing hastily, said Contarini's voice, close beside him. We must find out what he knows first. We can make him speak, I daresay. We are not hangmen to torture a prisoner till he confesses. Observe someone in a quiet and rather indolent tone. Strangle him quickly and throw him into the canal. It is late already. No, answered Contarini. Let us at least see his face. We may know him. If you cry out, he said to Zorzi, you will be killed instantly. Jacopo is right, said someone who had not spoken yet. Almost at the same instant a door was opened and a broad bar of light shot across the hall from an inner room. Zorzi was roughly dragged towards it and he saw that he was surrounded by about twenty masked men. His face was held to the light and Contarini's hold on his throat relaxed. Not even a mask exclaimed Jacopo, a fool or a madman. Speak men, who are you? Who sent you here? My name is Zorzi, answered the glassblower with difficulty, for he had almost been choked. My business is with the Lord Jacopo alone. It is very private. I have no secrets from my friends, said Contarini. Speak as if we were alone. I have promised my master to deliver the message in secret. I will not speak here. Strangle him and throw him out, suggested the man with the indolent voice. His master is the devil, I have no doubt. He can take the message back with him. Two or three left. These spies seldom hunt alone, remarked another, while we are wasting time a dozen more may be guarding the entrance to the house. I am no spy, said Zorzi. What are you then? A glassworker of Murano. Contarini's hands relaxed altogether now, and he bent his ear to Zorzi's lips. Whisper your message, he said quickly. Zorzi obeyed. Angelo Biroviero bids you wait by the second pillar on the left in St. Martin's Church next Sunday morning at one hour before noon. Till you shall see him, and in a week from that time you shall have an answer, and be silent if you would succeed. Very well, answered Contarini. Friends, he said standing erect, it is a message I have expected. The name of the man who sends it is Angelo. You understand? It is not this fellow's fault that he came here this evening. I suppose there is a woman in the case, said the indolent man. We will respect your secret. Put the poor devil out of his misery and let us come to our business. Kill an innocent man, exclaimed Contarini. Yes, since a word from him can send us all to die between the two red columns. His master is powerful and rich, said Jacopo. If the fellow does not go back tonight, there will be trouble tomorrow. And since he was sent to my house, the inquiry will begin here. That is true, said more than one voice, in a tone of hesitation. Zorzi was very pale, but he held his head high, facing the light of the tall wax candles on the table around which his captors were standing. He was hopelessly at their mercy, for they were twenty to one. The door had been shut and barred, and the only window in the room was high above the floor and covered by a thick curtain. He understood perfectly that by the accident of Angelo's name, Angelo being the password of the company, he had been accidentally admitted to the meeting of some secret society, and from what had been said he guessed that its object was a conspiracy against the Republic. It was clear that in self-defense they would most probably kill him, since they could not reasonably run the risk of trusting their lives in his hands. They looked at each other as if silently debating what they should do. At first you suggested that we should torture him, sneered the indolent man, and now you tremble like a girl at the idea of killing him. Listen to me, Jacopo. If you think that I will leave this house while this fellow is alive, you are most egregiously mistaken. He had drawn his dagger while he was speaking, and before he had finished it was dangerously near Zorzi's throat. Cantorini retired a step, as if not daring to defend the prisoner, whose assailant, in spite of his careless and almost womanish tone, was clearly a man of action. Zorzi looked fearlessly into the eyes that peered at him through the holes in the mask. It is curious, observed the other, he does not seem to be afraid. I am sorry for you, my man, for you appear to be a fine fellow, and I like your face, but we cannot possibly let you go out of the house alive. If you choose to trust me, said Zorzi calmly, I will not betray you, but of course it must seem safer for you to kill me. I quite understand. If anything, he is cooler than Venier, observed one of the company. He does not believe that we are in earnest, said Cantorini. I am, answered Venier. Now, my man, he said, addressing Zorzi again, if there is anything I can do for you or your family after your death without risking my neck, I will do it with pleasure. I have no family, but I thank you for your offer. In return for your courtesy, I warn you that my master's gift is fast to the step of the house. It might be recognized. When you have killed me, you had better cast it off. It will drift away with the tide. Venier, who had let the point of his long dagger rest against Zorzi's collar, suddenly dropped it. Cantorini, he said, I take back what I said. It would be an abominable shame to murder a man as brave as he is. A murmur of approval came from all the company, but Cantorini, whose vacillating nature showed itself at every turn, was now inclined to take the other side. He may ruin us all, he said. One word. It seems to me interrupted a big man who had not yet spoken and whose beard was as black as his mask, that we could make much use of just such a man as this and of more like him if they are to be found. You are right, said Venier. If he will take the oath and bear the tests, let him be one of us. My friend, he said to Zorzi, you see how it is. You have proved yourself a brave man, and if you are willing to join our company, we shall be glad to receive you among us. Do you agree? Hmm. I must know what the purpose of your society is, answered Zorzi as calmly as before. That is well said, my friend, and I like you the better for it. Now listen to me. We are a brotherhood of gentlemen of Venice sworn together to restore the original freedom of our city. That is our main purpose. What type Holo and Faliero failed to do we hope to accomplish. Are you with us in that? Serves, answered Zorzi. I am a Dalmatian by birth and not a Venetian. The Republic forbids me to learn the art of glassworking. I have learned it. The Republic forbids me to set up a furnace of my own. I hope to do so. I owe Venice neither allegiance nor gratitude. If your revolution is to give freedom to art as well as to men, I am with you. We shall have freedom for all, said Venier. We take more over an oath of fellowship which binds us to help each other in all circumstances to the utmost of our ability and fortune within the bounds of reason to risk life and limb for each other's safety and most especially to respect the wives, the daughters, and the betrothed brides of all who belong to our fellowship. These are promises which every true and honest man can make to his friends and we agree that whoso breaks any of them shall die by the hands of the company and by God in heaven it were better that you should lose your life now before taking the oath than that you should be false to it. I will take the oath and keep it, said Zorzi. That is well. We have few signs and no ceremonies, but our promises are binding and the forfeit is a painful death, so painful that even you might flinch before it. Indeed, we usually make some test of a man's courage before receiving him among us, though most of us have known each other since we were children. But you have shown us that you are fearless and honorable and we ask nothing more of you except to take the oath and then to keep it. He turned to the company, still speaking in his languid way. If any man here knows good reason why this companion should not be one of us, let him show it now. Then all were silent and uncovered their heads, but they still kept their masks on their faces. Zorzi stood out before them and Vanier was close beside him. Make the sign of the cross, said Vanier in a solemn tone, quite different from his ordinary voice, and repeat the words after me. And Zorzi repeated them steadily and precisely, holding his hand stretched out before him. In the name of the Holy Trinity, I promise and swear to give life and fortune in the good cause of restoring the original liberty of the people of Venice, obeying to that end the decisions of this honorable society and to bear all sufferings rather than betray it or any of its members. And I promise to help each one of my companions also in the ordinary affairs of life to the best of my ability and fortune within the bounds of reason, risking life and limb for the safety of each and all. And I promise most especially to honor and respect the wives, the daughters, and the betrothed brides of all who belong to this fellowship and to defend them from harm and insult even as my own mother. And if I break any promise of this oath, may my flesh be torn from my limbs and my limbs from my body one by one to be burned with fire and the ashes thereof scattered abroad. Amen. When Zorzi had said the last word, Vanier grasped his hand at the same time taking off the masquerure, and he looked into the young man's face. I am Zwan Vanier, he said, his indolent manner returning as he spoke. I am Giacopo Contorini, said the master of the house, offering his hand next. Zorzi looked first at one and then at the other, the first very pale young man with bright blue eyes and delicate features that were prematurely weary and even worn. Contorini was called the handsomest venetian of his day. Yet of the two, most men and women would have been more attracted to Vanier at first sight. For Contorini's silk and beard hardly concealed a weak and feminine mouth with lips too red and too curving for a man, and his soft brown eyes had an unmanly tendency to look away while he was speaking. He was tall, broad shoulders, and well proportioned, with beautiful hands and shapely feet, yet he did not give an impression of strength, whereas Vanier's languid manner, assumed as it doubtless was, could not hide the restless energy that lay in his lean frame. One by one the other companions came up to Zorzi, took off their masks and grasped his hand, and he heard their lips pronounced names famous in Venetian history, Lorden, Monsenigo, Foscari, and many others. But he saw that not one of them all was over five and twenty years of age, and with the keenness of the Waif who had fought his own way in the world, he judged that these were not men who could overturn the Great Republic and build up a new government. Whatever they might prove to be in danger and revolution, however, he had saved his life by casting his lot with theirs, and he was profoundly grateful to them for having accepted him as one of themselves. But for their generosity, his weighted body would have been already lying at the bottom of the canal, and he was not just now inclined to criticize the mental gifts of those would-be conspirators who had so unexpectedly forgiven him for discovering their secret meeting. Sirs, he said, when he had grasped the hand of each, I hope that in return for my life, for which I thank you, I may be of some service to the cause of liberty and to each of you in singular, though I have but little hope of this, seeing that I am but an artist and you are all patricians. I pray you inform me by what sign I may know you if we chance to meet outside this house and how I may make myself known. We have little needs of signs, answered Contorini, for we meet often and we know each other well, but our password is angel, meaning the angel that freed St. Peter from his bonds as we hope to free Venice from hers, and the token we give of each given you. Being thus instructed, Zorzi held his peace, for he felt that he was in the presence of men far above him in station, in whose conversation it would not be easy for him to join and of whose daily lives he knew nothing, except that most of them lived in palaces and many were the sons of counselors of the ten and of senators and procurators and of others high in office were at he wondered much. Certainly as the excitement of what had happened wore off and they sat about the table, they began to speak of the news of the day and especially of the unjust and cruel acts of the ten, each contributing some detail learned in his own home or among intimate friends. Zorzi sat silent in his place, listening, and he soon understood that as yet they had no definite plan for bringing on a revolution and that they knew nothing of whom Zorzi knew much by experience. Yet though they told each other things which seemed foolish to him he said nothing on that first night and all the time he watched Kantarini very closely and listened with a special attention to what he said trying to discern his character and judge his understanding. The splendid young Venetian was not displeased by Zorzi's attitude towards him and presently came and sat beside him. I should have explained to you, he said, that as it would be impossible for us to meet here without the knowledge of my servants we come together on pretence of playing games of chance. My father lives in our palace near St. Mark's and I live here alone. At this foscari the tall men with the black beard looked at Kantarini and left a little. Kantarini glanced at him and smiled with some constraint. As he continued I admit my guests myself and they wear masks when they come for though my servants are dismissed to their quarters and would certainly not betray me for a dice player they might let drop the names of my friends if they saw them from an upper window. At this juncture Zorzi heard the rattling of dice and looking down the table he saw that two of the company were already throwing against each other. In a few minutes the others having either begun to play themselves or being engaged in wagering on the play of others and you sir inquires Zorzi of his neighbor I am tired of games of chance answered the pale nobleman but our host says it is a mere pretence to hide the purpose of these meetings it is more than that said Vinier with a contemptuous smile do you play I am a poor artist sir ah I had forgotten that is very interesting but pray do not call me sir nor use any formality unless we meet in public at the sign of the angel we are all brothers yes yes of course you are a poor artist when I expected to be obliged to cut your throat a while ago I really hoped that I might be able to fulfill some last wish of yours I appreciated your goodness I was a little nervously now that the danger was over I meant it my friend I do assure you and I mean it now one advantage of the fellowship is that one may offer to help a brother in any way without insulting him and I am not as rich as I was I was too fond of those things once he pointed to the dice but if my purse can serve you such as it is I hope you will use it sensitive though Zorzi was I thank you heartily he answered it would be a curiosity to see money do good for once said Venier languidly looking toward the players Contarini is losing again he remarked does he generally lose much at play Zorzi asked trying to seem indifferent Venier laughed softly it is proverbial to lose like Jacopo Contarini I beg of you are all the meetings of the brotherhood like this one in what way asked Venier indifferently do you merely tell each other the news of the day and then play dice all night some play cards Venier laughed scornfully this is only the third of our secret sittings I believe but many of us meet elsewhere during the day our host said that the society said Zorzi it seems to me that this is making a pretense of conspiracy with the chance of death on the scaffold for the sake of dice playing to tell the truth I think so too answered the patrician leaning back in his chair and looking thoughtfully at the young glass blower it is more interesting to break a law when you may lose your head for it than if you only risk a fine or a year's banishment I dare say that seems complicated to you Zorzi laughed if it is only for the sake of the danger he said why not go and fight the Turks I have tried to do my share of that replied Venier quietly so have some of the others Contarini asked Zorzi no I believe he has never seen any fighting while the two were talking the play had proceeded steadily and almost in silence Contarini had lost heavily at first and then won back his losses and twice as much more that does not happen often he said pushing away the dice and leaning back Zorzi watched him the yellow light of the wax candles fell softly upon his silky beard and two perfect features and made splendid shadows in the scarlet silk of his coat and flashed in the precious ruby of the ring he wore on his white hand he seemed a true incarnation of this magnificent city essentially before the rest of all Italy in luxury in extravagance in the art of wasteful trifling with great things which is a rich man's way of loving art itself and there were many others of the company who were of the same stamp as he but whose faces had no interest for Zorzi compared to Contarini's beside him they were but ordinary men in the presence of a young god as such a man as that thought the poor wave it would be enough that Marietta's eyes should rest on him one moment next Sunday when he should be standing by the great pillar in the church and her fate would be sealed then and there, irrevocably it was not because she was only a glassmaker's daughter brought up in Marano what girl who was human would hesitate to accept such a husband Contarini might choose his wife as he pleased one or both of two reasons would explain why his choice had fallen upon Marietta it was possible that he had seen her and Zorzi firmly believed that no man could see her without loving her and Angelo Baroviero might have offered such an immense dowry for the alliance as to tempt Jacopo's father no one knew how rich old Angelo was since he had returned from Florence to Naples and many said that he possessed but Zorzi knew better than that End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of Marietta A Maid of Venice by Francis Marion Crawford this LibriVox recording is in the public domain Chapter 3 it was past midnight when Jacopo Contarini barred the door of his house and was alone he took one of the candles from the inner room he brought all the others and was already in the hall when he remembered that he had left his winnings on the table going back he opened the embroidered wallet he wore at his belt and swept the heap of heavy yellow coins into it as the last disappeared into the bag and rang upon the others he distinctly heard a sound in the room he started and looked about him it was not exactly the sound of a soft footfall nor of breathing short and distinct such a slight noise as might be made by drawing the palm of the hand quickly over a piece of stuff or by a short breath checked almost instantly or by a shoeless foot slipping a few inches on the thick carpet Contarini stood still and listened for though he had heard it distinctly he had no impression of the direction whence it had come it was not repeated and he began to search the room carefully he could find nothing though high above the floor was carefully closed and covered by a heavy curtain which could not possibly have moved in the stillness the tapestry was smoothly drawn and fastened upon four walls there was no furniture in the room but a big table and the benches and chairs above the tapestries the bare walls were painted up to the carved ceiling there was nothing to account for the noise Contarini looked nervously up the marble staircase candle in hand there's probably nothing more disturbing to people of ordinary nerves than a sound heard in a lonely place and for which it is impossible to find a reason when he reached the broad landing he smiled at himself and looked back at last shading the candle with his hand so as to throw the light down the staircase then he entered the apartment and locked himself in having passed through the large window from it he raised the latch of the next door very cautiously shaded the candle again and looked in a cool breeze almost put out the light I am not asleep said a sweet young horse I am here by the window he smiled happily at the words the candlelight fell upon a woman's face as he went forward such a face as men may see in dreams but rarely in waking life half sitting half lying seated in eastern fashion among the silken cushions of a low devane the open windows of the balcony overlooked the low houses opposite and the night breeze played with the little ringlets of her glorious hair her soft eyes looked up to her lover's face with infinite trustfulness and their violet depths were like clear crystal and as tender as the twilight of a perfect day she looked at him her head thrown back on the other hand stretched out to welcome his her mouth was like a southern rose when there is dew on the smooth red leaves in a maze of creamy shadows the fine web of her garment followed the lines of her resting limbs in delicate folds and one small white foot was quite uncovered her fan of ostrich feathers lay idle on the Persian carpet come my beloved I have waited long Kondarini knelt down and first he kissed the arching instep and then her hand that felt like a young dove just stirring under his touch and his lips caressed the satin of her arm and at last with a fierce little choking cry they found her own that waited for them and there was no more room for words in the silence of the June night one kiss answered another and breath mingled with breath and sigh with sigh at last the young man's head rested against her shoulder among the cushions then the Georgian woman opened her eyes slowly and glanced down at his face while her hand stroked and smoothed his hair and he could not see the strange smile on her wonderful lips for she knew that he could not see it and she let it come and go as it would half in pity and half in scorn I knew you would come she said bending her head a little nearer to his and I do not you will know that I am dead he answered almost faintly and he sighed and then I shall go to you she said but as she spoke she smiled again to herself I have heard that in old times when the lords of the earth died their most favorite slaves were killed upon the funeral pile that their souls might wait upon their masters in the world beyond yes it is true and so I will be your slave there a night that lasts forever shall seem no longer than this summer night that is too short for us you must not call yourself a slave Arissa answered Jacopo what am I then you bought me with your good gold from Aristarchie the Greek captain in the slave market your steward has the receipt for the money among his accounts and there is the Greek's written guarantee too I am sure promising to take me back that is not all he told you I was those are my documents of nobility my patents of rank preserved in your archives with your own she spoke playfully smiling to herself as she stroked his hair but he caught her hand tenderly and brought it to his lips holding it there you are more free than I he said which of us two is a slave you who hold me with your little hand will never let me go I think you would come back to me she answered but if I ran away would you follow you will not run away he spoke quietly and confidently still holding her hand as if he were talking to it while he felt the breath of her winds upon his forehead no she said and there was a little silence I have but one fear he began at last some of you have you lost at play again tonight she asked and in her tone there was a note of anxiety Konderini laughed low and felt for the wallet at his side he held it up to show how heavy it was with the gold and made her take it she only kept it a moment but while it was in her hand her eyelids were half closed as if she were guessing at the weight for he could not see her face I won all that he said and she'll have the pearls how good you are to me but should you not keep the money you may need it why do you talk of ruin she knew that he would give her all he had she almost guessed that he would commit a crime rather than lack gold to give her you do not know my father he answered when he is displeased he threatens to let me starve he will cut me off some day and I shall have to turn soldier you know his last scheme he wishes me to marry the daughter of a rich glass maker I know Arisa left contemptuously great joy may your bride have of you is she really rich yes but you know that I will not marry her why not Konderini started and looked up at her face in the dim light she was bending down to him with a very loving look why should you not marry she asked again look at me so strangely do you think I should care or that I am afraid of another woman for you yes I should have thought that she would be jealous he still gazed at her in astonishment jealous she cried and as she laughed she shook her beautiful head and the gold of her hair glittered in the flickering candlelight jealous I look at me is she younger than I I was 18 years old the other day as a child shall I be jealous of children is she taller straighter handsomer than I am show her to me and I will laugh in her face can she sing to you as I sing in the summer nights the songs you like and those I learned from the cura in the shadow of Kazbek is her hair brighter than mine is her hand softer is her step lighter jealous not I sing for you dance for you rise up and lie down at your bidding work for you live for you die for you as I will will she love you as I can love caress you to sleep or wake you with kisses at your dear will no ah no there is no woman in the world but you then I am not jealous of the rest least of all of your young bride I will wager with myself I have one already am I not trying to persuade you that you should marry I have not even seen her her father sent me a message tonight bidding me go to the church on Sunday and stand beside a certain pillar to see and be seen laughed Arissa it is not a fair exchange she will look at the handsomest man in the world that is the truth and you will see a little pale staring at you her wide mouth open and her clumsy hands hanging down she will look like the wooden dolls they dress in the latest Venetian fashion to send to Paris every year that the French courtiers may know what to wear and her father will hurry her along for fear that you should look too long at her and refuse to marry such a thing even for Marco Polo's millions Contarini laughed carelessly at the description give me some wine he said we will drink her health Arissa rose with the grace of a young goddess her hair tumbling over her bare shoulders in a splendid golden confusion Contarini watched her with possessive eyes as she went and came back bringing him the drink she brought him yellow wine of chiose in a glass calyx of morano blown air thin upon a slender stem and just touched here and there with drops of tender blue a health to the bride of Jacopo Contarini she said with a ringing little laugh then she said the wine to her lips so that they were wet with it and gave him the glass and as she stooped to give it her hair fell forward and almost hid her from him a health to the shower of gold he said and he drank she sat down beside him across her feet like an eastern woman with the empty glass carelessly upon the marble floor as though it had been a thing of no price that glass was made at her father's furnace he said a pity he could not have made his daughter of glass too answered Arissa graceful and silent and easily destroyed but if I say that you will think me jealous and I am not she will bring you wealth I wish her a long life for your good name like a slave as I was sold but did you gave gold for me because you wanted me for myself whereas you want nothing of her but her gold but for that Contarini seemed to be hesitating I never meant to marry her he added ah and but for that you would not but for that but for the only thing which I have not to give you the myriads of millions of diamonds in the earth the thousand rivers of gold that lie deep in the mountain rocks and all mankind and all that mankind has from end to end of it then you should have it all for your own and you would not need to marry the little red-haired girl with the fishes mouth Contarini left again have you seen her that you can describe her so well she may have black hair and nose yes perhaps it is black thin and coarse like the hair on a mules tail and she has black eyes like ripe olives set in the white of a hard boiled egg and she has dark skin like Spanish leather which shines when she is hot and is gray when she is cold and a black down on her upper lip and teeth like a young horse I hate those dark women but you have never seen her pretty then she shall be as you choose she shall have a round face round eyes around nose and around mouth her face shall be pink and white her eyes shall be of blue glass and her hair shall be as smooth and yellow as fresh butter she shall have little fat white hands like a healthy baby a double chin and a short waist then she will be what people call pretty yes a scented Jacopo that is very amusing but just suppose for the sake of discussion it is impossible of course but just suppose that instead of there being only one perfectly beautiful woman in the world whose name is Arissa there should be two and that the name of the other chance to be Marietta Beroviaro Arissa raised her eyes and gazed steadily at Jacopo you have seen her she said in a ton of conviction she is beautiful no I give you my word that I have not seen her I only wanted to know what you would do then I do not believe that any woman is as beautiful as I am answered the Georgian with the quiet simplicity of a savage but if there were one and you saw her insisted the man to see what she would say we could not both live one of us would kill the other I believe you would said Jacopo she had forgotten his presence while she spoke a fierce hardness had come into her eyes and her upper lip was a little raised in a cruel expression just showing her teeth he was surprised I never saw you like that he said you should not make me think of killing she answered suddenly leaving her seat and kneeling beside him on the devan it is not good to think too much of killing it makes one wish to do it and he said looking into her eyes that were growing tender again you would not know you were dying she whispered her lips quite close to his as she kissed him she loosened the collar from his white throat and smoothed his thick hair back from his forehead upon the pillow and she saw how pale he was under her touch but by and by he fell asleep and then she very softly drew her arm from beneath his tired head and stood up with a little sigh of relief the candle had burned to the socket she blew it out it was still an hour before dawn when she left the room lifting the heavy curtain that hung before the door of her inner chamber there a faint light was burning before a shrine in a silver cup filled with oil as she fastened the door noiselessly behind her a man caught her in his arms lifting her off her feet like a child shaggy black hair grew low on his bossy forehead his dark eyes were fierce and bloodshot a rough beard only half concealed the huge jaw and iron lips he was half clad in shirt and hose and the muscles of his neck and arm stood out like brown ropes as he pressed the beautiful creature to his broad chest I thought he would never sleep tonight she whispered her eyelids drooped and her cheeks grew deadly pale and the strong man felt the furious beating of her heart against his own breast he was Aristarchie the Greek captain who had sold her for a slave and she loved him in the wild days of sea fighting among the Greek islands he had taken a small trading galley that had been driven out of her course he left not a man of her crew alive to tell whether she had been Turkish or Christian and he took all that was worth taking of her poor cargo the only prize of any price was a man of her own who was being brought westward to be sold like thousands of others in those days with little concealment and no mystery in one of the slave markets of northern Italy Aristarchie claimed her for himself as his share of the booty but his men knew her value standing shoulder to shoulder between him and her they drew their knives and threatened to cut her to pieces if he would not promise to sell her land and share the price with them they judged that she must be worth a thousand or fifteen hundred pieces of gold for she was more beautiful than any woman they had ever seen and they had already heard her singing most sweetly to herself as if she were quite sure that she was in no danger because she knew her own value so Aristarchie was forced to consent cursing them and night and day they guarded her door against him to Venice and delivered her to the slave dealers then Aristarchie sold all that he had except his ship and it all brought far too little to buy such a slave she would have gone with him for she had seen that he was stronger than other men and feared neither god nor man but she was well guarded and he was only allowed to talk with her through a grated window like those of convent gates she was not long in the dealers house of Venice and many of them bid against each other for her in the dealers inner room till Cantorini outbid them all saying that he could not live without her though the price should ruin him and because he had not enough gold he gave the dealers besides money a marvelous sword with a jeweled hilt which one of his forefathers had taken at the siege of Constantinople and which some said had belonged to the emperor Justinian himself nine hundred years ago that he and his men paid the dealers their commission and took the money and the sword but before he went from the house the Greek captain begged leave to see Arissa once more at the grating and he told her that come what might he should steal her away she bade him not to be into great haste and she promised that if he would wait he should have with her more gold than her new master had given for her for she would take all he had from him little by little and when they had enough and lived in a grand manner in Florence or in Rome or in Sicily for she never doubted but that he would find some way of coming to her though she was guarded more closely than in the slave dealers house where the windows were graded and armed men slept before the door and one of the dealers watched all night more than a year had passed since then the strong Greek knew every corner of the house of the Anous Dei and every foothold under Arissa's windows from the water to the stone sill by which he could help himself a little as he went up hand over hand by the knotted silk rope that would have cut to the bone any hands but his she kept it hidden in a cushioned foot stool in her inner room many a risk he had run and more than once in winter he had slipped down the rope with haste to let himself gently into the icy water and had swum far down the dark canal to a landing place for he was a man of iron so it came about that Jacopo Contarini lived in a fool's paradise in which he was not only the chief fool himself but was more over in bodily danger more often than he knew for though Aristarchie had hitherto managed to escape being seen he would have killed a Jacopo with his naked hands if the latter had ever caught him as easily as a boy rings a bird's neck and with his little scruple of conscience the Georgian loved him for his hair-suit strength for his fearlessness even his violence and dangerous temper he dominated her as naturally as she controlled her master who's vacillating nature and love of idle ease filled her with contempt it was for the sake of gold that she acted her part daily and nightly with a wisdom and unwavering skill that was almost superhuman and had been in no haste to carry her off as he might have done at any time she hoarded the money she got from Jacopo to give it by stealth to Aristarchie who hid their growing wealth in a safe place where it was always ready but she kept her jewels always together in case of an unexpected flight since she dared not sell them or give them to the Greek lest they should be missed of late it had seemed to them both that the time for their final action was at hand but that Jacopo was near the end of his resources and that his father was resolved to force him to change his life there were days when he was reduced to borrowing money for his actual needs and though an occasional stroke of good fortune at play temporarily relieved him Arisa was sure that he was constantly sinking deeper into debt but within the week the aspect of his affairs had changed the marriage with Marietta had been proposed as a recovery she told Aristarchie everything as naturally as she would have concealed everything from Contarini we shall be rich, she said twining her white arms around his swarthy neck and looking up into his murderous eyes with something like genuine adoration we shall get his wife's dowry for ourselves by degrees every farthing of it and it shall be the dower of Aristarchie's bride instead I shall not be portionless you shall not be ashamed of me when you meet your old friends ashamed his arm pressed her to him till she longed to cry out for pain yet she would not have had him less rough you are so strong she gasped in a broken whisper yes a little looser so I can speak now you must go to Murano tomorrow and find out all about this Angelo Biroviaro and his daughter try to see her and tell me whether she is pretty but most of all learn whether she is really rich that is easy enough I will go to the furnace and offer to buy a cargo of glass for Sicily but you will not take it asked Arissa in sudden anxiety lest she should leave her to make the voyage oh no I will make inquiries I will ask for a sort of glass that does not exist I must know if the girl is rich before I marry him to her but can you make him marry her at all asked Arissa Darci I can make him do anything I please we drank to the health of the bride tonight in a goblet made by her father the wine was strong and I put a little syrup of poppies into it he will not wake for hours what is the matter she felt the rough man shaking beside her as if he were in an egg you I was laughing he said when he could speak it is a good jest but is there no danger in all this is it quite impossible that he should take a liking for his wife and leave me Arissa's whisper was hot with indignation at the mere thought then I suppose you would leave me for the first pretty girl with a fortune who wanted to marry you this Contorini is such a fool answered Arissa Darci contentuously with indignation and apology Arissa was instantly pacified if he should be foolish enough for that I have means that will keep him I do not see how you can force him to do anything except by his passion for you I can I was not going to tell you yet you always make me tell you everything like a child what is it asked the Greek have you found out anything new about him of course you must tell me we hold his life in our hands and Arissa Darci knew that she was not exaggerating the truth she began to tell him how this was the third time that a number of masked men had come to the house an hour after dark and had stayed till midnight or later and how Contorini had told her that they came to play at dice where they were safe from interruption and that on these nights there were quarters at sunset on pain of dismissal if Giacopo found them about the house but that they also received generous presents of money to keep them silent the man is a fool said Arissa Darci again he puts himself in their power he is much more completely in hours answered Arissa the servants believe that his friends come to play dice and so they do to an attitude of profound attention they are plotting against the Republic whispered Arissa I can hear all they say are you sure I tell you I can hear every word I can almost see them look here come with me she rose and he followed her to the corner of the room where the small silver lamp burned steadily before an image of Saint Mark and above a heavy kneeling stool the foot moves she said and she was already on her knees on the floor pushing the step it slid back with the soft sound Contorini had heard before he came upstairs the upper part of the woodwork was built into the wall they meet in the place below this Arissa said when they are there I can see a glimmer of light I cannot get my head in it is too narrow I can hear them how did you find this out asked Aristarchie on the floor beside her and reaching down into the dark space to explore it with his hand it is deep he continued without waiting for an answer there may be some passage by which one can get down only a child could pass you see how narrow it is but one can hear every sound they said enough tonight to send them all to the scaffold better they than we could see he had withdrawn his arm and was planted upon his hands and knees his shaggy head hanging over the dark aperture he was like some rough wild beast that has tracked its quarry to earth and crouches before the hole waiting for a victim how did you find this out he asked again looking up she was standing by the corner of the stool now all her marvelous beauty showing in the light of the little lamp saying my prayer is here the first night they met she said as if it were the most natural thing in the world I heard voices as it seemed under my feet I tried to push away the stool and the foot moved that is all Aristarchie's jaw dropped a little as he looked up at her do you say your prayers every night he asked and wondered of course I do do you never say a prayer no he was very wrong she said in the earnest tone a mother might use to her little child some harm will befall us if you do not say your prayers a slow smile crossed the ruffian's face as he realized that this evil woman who was ready to commit the most atrocious deeds out of love for him was still half a child end of chapter 3