Aristarchi sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and took a pistachio nut from his pouch.

“Master porter,” he began in a friendly tone, “can you tell me who that beautiful lady is, who came here a moment ago?”

“There is no reason why I should,” snarled the porter, beginning to strip the outer leaves from a large onion which he pulled from a string of them hanging by the wall.

Aristarchi said nothing for a few moments, but watched the man with an air of interest.

“Were you ever a pirate?” he inquired presently.

“No, I never served in your crew.”

The porter was not often at a loss for a surly answer.  The Greek laughed outright, in genuine amusement.

“I like your company, my friend,” he said.  “I should like to spend the day here.”

“As the devil said to Saint Anthony,” concluded the porter.

Aristarchi laughed again.  It was long since he had enjoyed such amusing conversation, and there was a certain novelty in not being feared.  He repeated his first question, however, remembering that he had not come in search of diversion, but to gather information.

“Who was the beautiful lady?” he asked.  “She is Messer Angelo’s daughter, is she not?”

“A man who asks a question when he knows the answer is either a fool or a knave.  Choose as you please.”

“Thanks, friend,” answered Aristarchi, still grinning and showing his jagged teeth.  “I leave the first choice to you.  Whichever you take, I will take the other.  For if you call me a knave, I shall call you a fool, but if you think me a fool, I am quite satisfied that you should be the knave.”

The porter snarled, vaguely feeling that the Greek had the better of him.  At that moment Zorzi returned, and his coming put an end to the exchange of amenities.

“My master has no long leisure,” he said, “but he begs you to come in.”

They left the lodge together, and the porter watched them as they went down the dark corridor, muttering unholy things about the visitor who had disturbed him, and bestowing a few curses on Zorzi.  Then he went back to peeling his onions.

As Aristarchi went through the garden, he saw Marietta sitting under the plane-tree, making a little net of coloured beads.  Her face was turned from him and bent down, but when he had passed she glanced furtively after him, wondering at his size.  But her eyes followed Zorzi, till the two reached the door and went in.  A moment later Zorzi came out again, leaving his master and the Greek together.  Marietta looked down at once, lest her eyes should betray her gladness, for she knew that Zorzi would not go back and could not leave the glass-house, so that site should necessarily be alone with him while the interview in the laboratory lasted.

He came a little way down the path, then stopped, took a short knife from his wallet and began to trim away a few withered sprigs from a rose-bush.  She waited a moment, but he showed no signs of coming nearer, so she spoke to him.