The boatman, anxious for drink money, and convinced that his huge employer would get the better of the porter, had obligingly gone down upon his hands and knees, thrusting his broad back under the captain’s feet, so that Aristarchi stood upon him and was now prepared to prolong the interview without any further effort.  His terrific shouts rang through the corridor to the garden.

The first person to enter the little lodge was Marietta herself, and the Greek broke off short in the middle of another tremendous yell as soon as he saw her.  She turned her face up to him, quite fearlessly, and was very much inclined to laugh as she saw the sudden change in his expression.

“Madam,” he said with great politeness, “I beg you to forgive my manner of announcing myself.  If your porter were more obliging, I should have been admitted in the ordinary way.”

“What is this atrocious disturbance?” asked Zorzi, entering before Marietta could answer.  “Pray leave the fellow to me,” he added, speaking to Marietta, who cast one more glance at Aristarchi and went out.

“Sir,” said the captain blandly, “I admit that my behaviour may give you some right to call me ‘fellow,’ but I trust that my apology will make you consider me a gentleman like yourself.  Your porter altogether refused to take a message to Messer Angelo Beroviero.  May I ask whether you are his son, sir?”

“No, sir.  You say that you wish to speak with the master.  I can take a message to him, but I am not sure that he will see any one to-day.”

Aristarchi imagined that Beroviero made himself inaccessible, in order to increase the general idea of his wealth and importance.  He resolved to convey a strong impression of his own standing.

“I am the chief partner in a great house of Greek merchants settled in Palermo,” he said.  “My name is Charalambos Aristarchi, and I desire the honour of speaking with Messer Angelo about the purchase of several cargoes of glass for the King of Sicily.”

“I will deliver your message, sir,” said Zorzi.  “Pray wait a minute, I will open the door.”

Aristarchi’s big head disappeared at last.

“Yes!” growled the porter to Zorzi.  “Open the door yourself, and take the blame.  The man has the face of a Turkish pirate, and his voice is like the bellowing of several bulls.”

Zorzi unbarred the door, which opened inward, and Aristarchi turned a little sideways in order to enter, for his shoulders would have touched the two door-posts.  The slight and gracefully built Dalmatian looked at him with some curiosity, standing aside to let him pass, before barring the door again.  Aristarchi, though not much taller than himself, was the biggest man he had ever seen.  He thanked Zorzi, who pushed forward the porter’s only chair for him to sit on while he waited.

“I will bring you an answer immediately,” said Zorzi, and disappeared down the corridor.