ty amused him or not,
I cannot say, because of his impassive humour, but he answered me with a
serious inclination of his head, and then we fell speaking of other
matters in our usual tone, until the young man, having satisfied the
cravings of nature, spoke:

"When you are at liberty, gentlemen," says he, "to question my conduct,
I will answer you."

CHAPTER XIX.

_Of the business appointed to the painter, and how he set about the
same._

The young man had risen and was standing by the table when we turned
from the window; he seemed greatly refreshed, his face had lost its
livid hue of passion and death, and looked the better for a tinge of
colour. He met our regard boldly, yet with no braggart, insolent air,
but the composure of a brave man facing his trial with a consciousness
of right upon his side.

"I would ask you," says the Don, seating himself on t'other side the
table, "why you refused to do that before?"

"Sir," answers he, "I have lost everything in the world save some small
modicum of pride, which, being all I have, I do cherish, maybe, unduly.
And so, when these unmannerly hinds took me by the throat, calling on me
to tell my name and business, this spirit within me flaring up, I could
not answer with the humility of a villain seeking to slink out of danger
by submissive excuses."

"Be seated," says the Don, accepting this explanation with a bow. "How
may we call you?"

"In Venice," replies the other, with some hesitation, "I was called
Dario--a name given me by my fellow-scholars because my English name was
not to their taste."

"Enough," says the Don. "I can understand a man of better fortune, as I
perceive you have been, wishing in such a position as this to retain his
incognito. There are no parks in Venice, to my knowledge, but surely,
sir, you would not enter a palazzo there uninvited without some
reasonable pretext."

"It would be sufficient that in such a house as this I thought I might
find some employment for a painter."

"You are a painter?" says I.

"A poor one, as you see," replies Dario, with a significant glance at
his clothes.

Don Sanchez turned to me, hunching his shoulders.

"'Tis clear," says he, "that Signor Dario has been grossly abused by our
lady's over-zealous steward. You have but to tell us, sir, what
reparation we can make you."

"I'll not refuse it," answers Dario, eagerly. "You shall grant me
permission to prove the honesty of my story--and somet