“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 formality, unless we meet in public.  At the ’Sign of the Angel’ we are all brothers.  Yes—­yes—­of course!  You are a poor artist.  When I expected to be obliged to cut your throat awhile ago, I really hoped that I might be able to fulfil some last wish of yours.”

“I appreciated your goodness.”  Zorzi laughed a little nervously, now that the danger was over.

“I meant it, my friend, I do assure you.  And I mean it now.  One advantage of the fellowship is that one may offer to help a brother in any way without insulting him.  I am not as rich as I was—­I was too fond of those things once”—­he pointed to the dice—­“but if my purse can serve you, such as it is, I hope you will use it rather than that of another.”

It was impossible to be offended, sensitive though Zorzi was.

“I thank you heartily,” he answered.

“It would be a curiosity to see money do good for once,” said Venier, languidly looking towards the players.  “Contarini is losing again,” he remarked.

“Does he generally lose much at play?” Zorzi asked, trying to seem indifferent.

Venier laughed softly.

“It is proverbial, ’to lose like Jacopo Contarini’!” he answered.

“Tell me, I beg of you, are all the meetings of the brotherhood like this one?”

“In what way?” asked Venier indifferently.

“Do you merely tell each other the news of the day, and then play at dice all night?”

“Some play cards.”  Venier laughed scornfully.  “This is only the third of our secret sittings, I believe, but many of us meet elsewhere, during the day.”

“Our host said that the society made a pretence of play in order to conspire against the State,” said Zorzi.  “It seems to me that this is making a pretence of conspiracy, with the chance of death on the scaffold, for the sake of dice-playing.”