eed be the end of everything, if he showed his pride to
you!" Nella was much displeased by the mere suggestion. "But with us it
is different. He never speaks to the other workmen."

"They never speak to him."

"And quite right, too, since he holds his head so high, with no reason
at all! But it will not last for ever! I wonder what the master would
think, for instance, if he knew that Zorzi takes the skiff in the
evening, and rows himself over to Venice, all alone, and comes back long
after midnight, and sleeps in the glass-house across the way because he
cannot get into the house. Zorzi! Zorzi! The master cannot move without
Zorzi! And where is Zorzi at night? At home and in bed, like a decent
young man? No. Zorzi is away in Venice, heaven knows where, doing heaven
knows what! Do you wonder that he is so pale and tired in the morning?
It seems to me quite natural. Eh? What do you think, my pretty lady?"

Marietta was silent for a moment. It was only a servant's spiteful
gossip, but it hurt her.

"Are you sure that he goes to Venice alone at night?" she asked, after a
little pause.

"Am I sure that I live, that I belong to you, and that my name is Nella?
Is not the boat moored under my window? Did I not hear the chain
rattling softly last night? I got up and looked out, and I saw Zorzi, as
I see you, taking the padlock off. I am not blind--praise be to heaven,
I see. He turned the boat to the left, so he must have been going to
Venice, and it was at least an hour after the midnight bells when I
heard the chain again, and I looked out, and there he was. But he did
not come into the house. And this morning I saw him coming out of the
glass-house, just as the men went in. He was as pale as a boiled
chicken."

Marietta had seen him, too, and the coincidence gave colour to the rest
of the woman's tale, as would have happened if the whole story had been
an invention instead of being quite true. Nella was combing the girl's
thick hair, an operation peculiarly conducive to a maid's chattering,
for she has the certainty that her mistress cannot get away, and must
therefore listen patiently.

A shadow had fallen on the brightness of Marietta's morning. She was
paler, too, but she said nothing.

"Of course he was tired," continued Nella. "Did you suppose that he
would come back with pink cheeks and bright eyes, like a baby from
baptism, after being out half the night?"

"He is always pale," said Marietta.

"Because he