“We may as well leave nothing behind,” said Aristarchi coolly.  “Michael will wait for us below, in one of the ship’s boats.  There is room for all Contarini’s possessions, if we could only get at them.”

“Would it not be better to be content with what we have already, and to go at once?” asked Arisa rather timidly.

“No,” replied Aristarchi.  “I am going to say good-bye to your old friend in my own way.”

“Do you mean to kill him?” asked Arisa in a whisper, though it was quite safe for them to talk in natural tones.  “I could go behind him and throw something over his head.”

Aristarchi grinned, and pressed her beautiful head to his breast, caressing her with his rough hands.

“You are as bloodthirsty as a little tigress,” he said.  “No.  I do not even mean to hurt him.”

“Oh, I hoped you would,” answered the Georgian woman.  “I have hated him so long.  Will you not kill him, just to please me?  We could wind him in a sheet with a weight, you know, and drop him into the canal, and no one would ever know.  I have often thought of it.”

“Have you, my gentle little sweetheart?” Aristarchi chuckled with delight as he stroked her hair.  “I am sorry,” he continued.  “The fact is, I am not a Georgian like you.  I have been brought up among people of civilisation, and I have scruples about killing any one.  Besides, sweet dove, if we were to kill the son of one of the Council of Ten, the Council would pursue us wherever we went, for Venice is very powerful.  But the Ten will not lift a hand to revenge a good-for-nothing young gamester whose slave has run away with her first love!  Every one will laugh at Contarini if he tries to get redress.  It is better to laugh than to be laughed at, it is better to be laughed at than to cry, it is better to cry one’s eyes blind than to be hanged.”

Having delivered himself of these opinions Aristarchi began to look about him for whatever might be worth the trouble of carrying off, and Arisa collected all her jewels from the caskets in which they were kept, and little bags of gold coins which she had hidden in different places.  She also lit a candle and brought Aristarchi to the small coffer in which Contarini kept ready gold for play, and which was now more than half full.

“The dowry of the glass-maker’s daughter!” observed the Greek as he carried it off.

There were small objects of gold and silver on the tables in the large room, there was a dagger with a jewelled hilt, an illuminated mass book in a chased silver case.

“You will need it on Sundays at sea,” said Aristarchi.

“I cannot read,” said the Georgian slave regretfully.  “But it will be a consolation to have the missal.”

Aristarchi smiled and tossed the book upon the heap of things.

“It would be amusing to pay a visit to those young fools downstairs, and to take all their money and leave them locked up for the night,” he said, as if a thought had struck him.