rs, and Procurators and of
others high in office, whereat he wondered much. But presently, 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 the populace
upon whose support they reckoned, and 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
Contarini very closely, and listened with especial 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 Saint Mark's, and I live here alone."

At this Foscari, the tall man with the black beard, looked at Contarini
and laughed a little. Contarini glanced at him and smiled with some
constraint.

"On such evenings," 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 he found himself sitting alone near Zuan Venier,
all the others having either begun to play themselves, or being engaged
in wagering on the play of others.

"And you, sir?" inquired Zorzi of his neighbour.

"I am tired of games of chance," answered the pale nobleman wearily.

"But our host says it is a mere pretence, to hide the purpose of these
meetings."

"It is more than that," said Venier with a contemptuous smile. "Do you
play?"

"I am a poor artist, sir. I cannot."

"Ah, I had forgotten. That is very interesting. But pray do not call me
'sir' nor use any formalit