The first care of the two Venetian women, on arriving in their new place of abode, which seemed to them almost as much a foreign country as Pekin might seem to an Englishman, was, of course, to present their letter of introduction to the powerful and illustrious protector to whom they were recommended.  But there had, thereupon, arisen a difference of opinion between the older and the younger lady.  Old Orsola Steno, acting on the wisdom which certain observations of life picked up in her sixty years of passage through it had probably taught her, was strongly of opinion that the important letter should be presented to the Marchese by Paolina in person,—­or if not that, by both of them together.  But Paolina strongly objected to this mode of proceeding; and urged her friend to take upon herself the duty of waiting on the Marchese.  Orsola contested the point as strongly as she could.  But as it was very rarely that Paolina had ever opposed her in any thing, she was the less prepared to resist opposition on the present occasion.  And as Paolina was in this matter obstinate, old Orsola yielded; and set forth by herself to walk to the Palazzo Castelmare.  Nobody had ever any difficulty in obtaining access to the popular Marchese; and the Signora Orsola Steno was at once ushered into his library,—­ presented her letter, and was received with all courtesy and kindness.

To receive recommendations of all sorts, to be asked to render all kinds of services, was nothing new or uncommon to the Marchese.  He ran over the Englishman’s letter rapidly.

“Va bene! va bene!  At your service, Signora!  I shall be most happy to give you all the assistance in my power.  I remember very well that Signor Vilobe (Willoughby was the Englishman’s name) was desirous of procuring copies of some of our mosaics.  I am very happy he has found so competent a person to execute them.”

Signora Orsola made a feeble attempt to point out that she was not herself the artist who was to make the copies in question; but what with her awe of the grand seigneur to whom she was speaking, and what with the strangeness of her Venetian tones to her hearer’s ear, and what with the Marchese’s hurry, her explanation failed to reach his comprehension.

“Yes!  You and your companion will need to find a suitable lodging, the first thing.  We must see to it for you.  But the fact is, Signora Foscarelli, that I am more than usually busy this morning.  I am expecting some gentlemen here on business every minute.  If you will excuse me, therefore, I will entrust the commission of finding a proper quartiere for you to my nephew.  He will be more likely than I am to know where what you require is likely to be found.  He shall call upon you this morning.  Where are you?  At the locanda de’ Tre Re!  Very good.  Of course you don’t want to remain in an inn longer than can be helped.  I will tell my nephew to go to you this morning.”

So Signora Steno returned to the “Tre Re;” a little alarmed at the thought that she had passed herself off for another person and a somewhat different one, but charmed with the courtesy and kindness of the Marchese.  And in less than an hour the strangers from Venice heard two voices below in the entrance of the locanda inquiring for two Venetian ladies who had recently arrived in Ravenna.