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"I assure you," Giovanni said, "that this miserable Zorzi is a liar, a thief and an assassin." "Yes," assented Contarini carelessly, "I have no doubt of it." "The best thing is to arrest him at once, this very night, if possible, and have him brought before the Council." "Yes."
"My name is Charalambos Aristarchi, and I desire the honour of speaking with Messer Angelo about the purchase of several cargoes of glass for the King of Sicily." "I will deliver your message, sir," said Zorzi. "Pray wait a minute, I will open the door." Aristarchi's big head disappeared at last. "Yes!" growled the porter to Zorzi. "Open the door yourself, and take the blame.
"You are wise," Zorzi answered. "You are very wise." "No, I love you." She spoke softly and glanced at the open window, and then at his face. "Truly?" He smiled happily as he whispered his question in one word, and he was resting a hand on the trunk of the tree, just as he had been standing on the day she remembered so well. "Ah, you know it now!" she answered, with bright and trusting eyes.
As they reached the entrance to the corridor Aristarchi turned once more, and made an elaborate bow, sweeping the ground with his cap, for Beroviero had remained at the door till he should be out of sight. He bent his head, making a gracious gesture with his hand, and went in as the Greek disappeared. Zorzi followed the latter, showing him out.
A change in the situation was brought about by the appearance of Zuan Venier at the glass-house on the following morning. Indolent, tired of his existence, sick of what amused and interested his companions, but generous, true and kind-hearted, he had been sorry to hear that Zorzi had suffered by an accident, and he felt impelled to go and see whether the young fellow needed help.
It was probably in the garden now, but it would take a strong man a day or two to dig up all the earth there to the depth at which the book must have been buried. Zorzi must have done the work at night, after the furnaces were out, and when there were no night boys to watch him.
For an instant, in his suffering, Zorzi fancied that he had died and was in the clutches of Satan himself. He turned his head on the cushion and saw the ugly face of the old porter, who was bending down and examining the wounded foot while he steadily cursed everything in heaven and earth, with an earnestness that would have been grotesque had his language been less frightful.
You may call upon me to repeat what I have said, when you speak with him." "I am obliged to you, sir," said Zorzi coldly. "I shall not need to disturb you." "You are not wise," returned Giovanni gravely. "If I were curious fortunately for you I am not! I would send for a mason and have some of the stones of the pavement turned over before me.
Do you think that if I meant to marry Messer Jacopo, I should be here now, that I should let you hold me in your arms, that I would kiss you? Do you really believe that?" "I could not believe it," Zorzi answered. "And yet " "And yet you almost do!" she cried. "What more do you need, to know that I love you, with all my heart and soul and will, and that I mean to be your wife, come what may?"
When he came near her he stood still a moment, but she would not look up, and between annoyance and disappointment and confusion she felt that she was blushing, which she would not have had Zorzi see for anything. She wondered why he did not go on. "Have I offended you?" he asked, in a low voice. Oddly enough, her embarrassment disappeared as soon as he spoke, and the blush faded away.
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