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Without a word, Andrea had dressed, and was now following his benefactor, who was incessantly chatting, to the Doges' Palace. Samuele was well known here. He knocked at an inconspicuous door in the yard, whispered a word into the ear of the servant who opened it, and politely let Andrea walk ahead of him up a small staircase.
It seemed as if the three others were not paying any attention to the visitors, but were rather busy in continuing their conversation. "You're bringing the stranger, you told us about?" the secretary asked. "Yes, Your Grace." "You may leave, Samuele." The Jew bowed obediently and left the room.
Using all of his willpower, he kept his emotions under control and said: "Do you have any business here, Samuele, or are you just curious to see a murdered inquisitor lain out on his bed of state?" "I'm on duty," replied the Jew. "But it could be useful for you as well to come along. I'll introduce you to some of my friends, for one out of ten here knows what he's looking for.
Now, she lifted her head up and, with a proud look, examined the seething crowd on the Piazzetta above. "This is the blond countess," Andrea heard some of the people say; he had already recognised her from the start. Shrinking back, as if her mere sight would incur doom, he turned away and found himself looking at a familiar face, nodding at him like an old friend. Samuele stood behind him.
"But I'd think, Signore what is your name?" "Samuele." "But I'd think, Signore Samuele, that you're thinking too badly about those who spy out the plots and assassinations of the citizens for the benefit of the state and who uncover conspiracies against the republic before they can do any harm." The Jew stopped walking, grabbed the other one's sleeve, and looked at him.
But of course, I regard myself as a good enough judge of character to know that a mind like yours couldn't seek to get on the payroll of that signoria." Without a word, Andrea extended his hand to him. In the same moment, he turned his face around and saw his colleague Samuele standing a few steps behind them with a demure posture in the middle of the room.
Marina came often to the studio of the Veronese in San Samuele, while the Madonna del Sorriso grew slowly into life; it was not that most perfect life of which the artist had dreamed, for hitherto beauty had sufficed to him and he had never sought to burden his creations with questions of the soul; but now the sadness of the unattainable that was growing within him looked out of the wonderful eyes of the maiden on his canvas, yet he tossed his brushes aside in discontent.
Down at Sammy's he found Parker Allison and Pete Lytell sitting alone at a table, drinking whiskey sours. It was just after six o'clock, and Sammy, or Samuele Bendiri, as he had been christened, was sweeping an accumulation of cigarette butts and broken glass into a corner. "Hi, Tony!" called Parker Allison to Anthony. Sometimes he addressed him as Tony, at other times it was Dan.
The Government did not have to think over the matter long. Titian's father had been honoured among them, Titian's genius was well known, and the commission was gladly given him. As soon as he got this business affair settled he moved into the palace of the Duke of Milan "at San Samuele; on the Grand Canal, where he remained for sixteen years," so says his biographer.
When an English tourist sees it, he either asks "Who the devil was Samuele Butler?" or wonders why the Sicilians should perpetuate the memory of the author of Hudibras. Well, it cannot be denied that the English are only too anxious to recognize a man of genius if somebody will kindly point him out to them.
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