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But she needed none, as it seemed to her. It was enough that he should have acted his comedy last night and got by a stratagem what he could never have by any other means. Ruggiero returned after two or three minutes. "Well?" inquired Beatrice. "He sent one at nine o'clock this morning, Excellency." For one minute their eyes met. Ruggiero's were fierce, bright and clear.
Yet she wondered a little about his past life, and whether he had ever spoken to any woman with that ringing passion she had heard in Ruggiero's voice, with that flashing look she had seen in the sailor's bright blue eyes. It would be good to be spoken to like that. It would be good to see the colour in a man's face change, and come and go, red and white like life and death.
"Her daughter is going to marry a certain Conte di San Miniato a great signore of those without soldi." The sailor coiled the plaited sinnet neatly over his bare arm, but looked up as Ruggiero uttered an exclamation. "What is the matter with you?" he asked. Ruggiero's face was quite red and his broad chest heaved as he bit his lip and thrust his hands into his pockets.
"I will never say anything against learning to row a gondola in future," Matteo said, "for it seems to lead to all sorts of adventures; and unless you could have rowed well, you would never have got back to tell the story. But it is certain that it is a good thing you are leaving Venice for a time, for Ruggiero's friends may find out the share you had in it from some of my cousin's servants.
But Ruggiero pushed the boat's head off and she floated free between the rocks. "You and I can take a bath together," said the sailor very quietly. "The water is very deep here." San Miniato started. There was a sudden change in Ruggiero's face. "Land me!" cried the Count in a commanding tone. "In hell!" answered the sailor's deep voice.
He found his brother just coming out of the house in which they lodged, arrayed at all points exactly like himself. Sebastiano's young beard was not quite so thick, his eyes were a little softer, his movements a trifle less energetically direct than Ruggiero's, and he was, perhaps, an inch shorter; but the resemblance was extraordinary and would have struck any one.
In his poem he seems to have designedly thrown off the embarrassment of a unity of action. The Orlando Furioso is founded on three principal narratives, distinct but often intermingled; the history of the war between Charlemagne and the Saracens, Orlando's love for Angelica, his madness on hearing of her infidelity, and Ruggiero's attachment to Bradamante.
But Black Rag was rather a worthless fellow, who drank too much wine, played too much at the public lottery and wasted his substance on trifles. Ruggiero's purchase was much discussed that evening and all the next day by the sailors of the Piccola Marina. Some agreed that he had done well, and some said that he had made a mistake, but Ruggiero said nothing and paid no attention to the gossips.
The fewer the better, he thought, if only there could be a note of passion in them, if only one of them could ring as all of poor Ruggiero's had rung when he had spoken that afternoon. He hesitated and hesitation would be fatal if it lasted another five seconds. He grew desperate.
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