y at first and had then won back
his losses and twice as much more.

"That does not happen often," he said, pushing away the dice and leaning
back.

Zorzi watched him. The yellow light of the wax candles fell softly upon
his silky beard and too perfect features, and made splendid shadows in
the scarlet silk of his coat, and flashed in the precious ruby of the
ring he wore on his white hand. He seemed a true incarnation of his
magnificent city, a century before the rest of all Italy in luxury, in
extravagance, in the art of wasteful trifling with great things which is
a rich man's way of loving art itself; and there were many others of the
company who were of the same stamp as he, but whose faces had no
interest for Zorzi compared with Contarini's. Beside him they were but
ordinary men in the presence of a young god.

No woman could resist such a man as that, thought the poor waif. It
would be enough that Marietta's eyes should rest on him one moment, next
Sunday, when he should be standing by the great pillar in the church,
and her fate would be sealed then and there, irrevocably. It was not
because she was only a glass-maker's daughter, brought up in Murano.
What girl who was human would hesitate to accept such a husband?
Contarini might choose his wife as he pleased, among the noblest and
most beautiful in Italy. One or both of two reasons would explain why
his choice had fallen upon Marietta. It was possible that he had seen
her, and Zorzi firmly believed that no man could see her without loving
her; and Angelo Beroviero might have offered such an immense dowry for
the alliance as to tempt Jacopo's father. No one knew how rich old
Angelo was since he had returned from Florence and Naples, and many said
that he possessed the secret of making gold; but Zorzi knew better than
that.

CHAPTER III

It was past midnight when Jacopo Contarini barred the door of his house
and was alone. He took one of the candles from the inner room, put out
all the others and was already in the hall, when he remembered that he
had left his winnings on the table. Going back he opened the embroidered
wallet he wore at his belt and swept the heap of heavy yellow coins into
it. As the last disappeared into the bag and rang upon the others he
distinctly heard a sound in the room. He started and looked about him.

It was not exactly the sound of a soft footfall, nor of breathing, but
it might have been either. It was short and disti