It was bedtime, but hark! at the door were shuffling steps and voices whispering; and presently there came a gentle tap—­repeated once or twice.  Ser Zenobio rose to see what was passing outside his house.  Peering into the gloom he saw two figures—­one a girl’s—­and a voice he knew full well said: 

“Father, we have come to crave shelter and protection.”

“Who are you?  My boy Pietro!  And what are you doing here in Florence, and at this time of night?”

Madonna Costanza was peeping over his shoulder, and both of them were greatly agitated, and awaited with anxiety Pietro’s reply.

“We have come from Venice and are very tired.  See, father and mother, this is Bianca.”

Sternly answered Ser Zenobio.  “What do you mean, Pietro?  What shame is this you have done your parents?  Who is Bianca, and what are you doing with her in Florence?  You never said you were coming home.  Explain yourself, or come not into your father’s house.”

Heavy rain was falling, and Bianca was weeping as Pietro led her into the light of the candle his mother held.

“Let them come in anyhow, Zenobio, and we can hear what they have got to say, without the neighbours hearing us,” put in the tender-hearted woman.

With that, Ser Zenobio gave his hand to Bianca and drew her and Pietro within the door, and then, in sterner tones, he commanded his son to tell what he had done.

Briefly Pietro recounted the story of his love and how Bianca returned it.  He spoke of Messer Bartolommeo’s harshness and of the unkindness of Bianca’s stepmother, Madonna Lucrezia de’ Grimani-Contarini—­the Patriarch’s sister.  He described their plight and the perils which threatened them.  But, when he went on to hint at Bianca’s condition, the loving heart of Madonna Costanza melted towards the beauteous, weeping girl, and she drew her to her bosom to embrace and comfort her.

Long and anxious vigil the four kept that winter’s night.  The outcome of their deliberations was the marriage of Pietro and Bianca, on 12th December, privately, at Ser Zenobio’s, with the priestly blessing at San Marco’s across the way.

It was deemed expedient that the young people should conceal themselves as much as possible, in view of the extreme measures taken by the Serene Republic.  If caught, Pietro was to be slain and Bianca enclosed in a convent.  The abduction of a noble Venetian was a capital offence, and the girl’s dowry was confiscated by the State.

Soon the news of the elopement ran through Florence and set everybody talking.  The reward of two thousand gold ducats was a tempting bait for desperadoes and others in need of coin.  Everybody wished to see the beauteous Venetian and have a chat with bold Pietro, for, of course, no Florentine blamed them!  Who could?

* * * * *

Don Francesco, Duke Cosimo’s eldest son, was in Bavaria making believe-courtship with the Archduchess Joanne, the Emperor’s daughter, when the gossip about Pietro and Bianca reached him.  He, of course, knew nothing of the Buonaventuri, nor of the Cappelli, but romance is romance in every age and degree of human life!  He determined on his return to Florence to find out the amorous young couple and judge for himself of the charms of the fair girl-bride.