“To tell the truth, I think so too,” answered the patrician, leaning back in his chair and looking thoughtfully at the young glass-blower.  “It is more interesting to break a law when you may lose your head for it than if you only risk a fine or a year’s banishment.  I daresay that seems complicated to you.”

Zorzi laughed.

“If it is only for the sake of the danger,” he said, “why not go and fight the Turks?”

“I have tried to do my share of that,” replied Venier quietly.  “So have some of the others.”

“Contarini?” asked Zorzi.

“No.  I believe he has never seen any fighting.”

While the two were talking the play had proceeded steadily, and almost in silence.  Contarini had lost heavily 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.