ary affection for the
venerable nobleman, and flattered him by every expression of respect and
esteem. They had already spoken of the attempted assassination, and Simon
Turchi had expressed his astonishment, for he did not believe that
Geronimo had an enemy in the world. It was quite likely that Bufferio had
made a mistake as to the individual, a thing which might easily have
happened in so dark a night.
While Simon Turchi, with apparent calmness, thus conversed with the old
gentleman, he was evidently meditating some wicked design; for while
talking, his eyes incessantly wandered to Geronimo, and he endeavored to
divine from his countenance the subject of his conversation. He did not
for one instant lose sight of Mary's betrothed.
After speaking of the assassination, the old Deodati glanced around the
room upon the different groups of guests, and he asked Turchi:
"Who is the gentleman in purple velvet, who is the object of such marked
respect from the merchants around him? I do not mean the tall old man, I
am acquainted with him, he is the rich Fugger of Augsburg; I am speaking
of the one who stands beside him."
"He is a banker, signor," replied Simon Turchi. "He is very rich, and his
name is Lazarus Tucher. The gentleman before him is the head of the house
of the Hochstetter. The gentlemen conversing with him belong to the
distinguished commercial houses of the Gigli, the Spignoli, and the
Gualterotti. A little apart, and behind them, is Don Pezoa, the
superintendent of the king of Portugal; he is speaking with Diego d'Aro,
and Antonio de Vaglio, superintendents from Spain. The gentlemen near them
are Italian and Portuguese merchants, whose names I could tell you, for I
know them all, but such details would not interest you."
"I am indebted to you for your kindness, Signor Turchi," replied Deodati.
"My nephew, Geronimo, would give me all this information, but he is
surrounded by his young friends, and as he sees me with you, he is
undoubtedly convinced that I could not be in better or more agreeable
company. Have the kindness to tell me the name of the fine-looking old man
seated near the table, and to give me some information regarding those who
are listening to him with so much attention."
"Around the table, signor, are the most learned men of Netherlands. That
gray-headed orator is the old Graphaeus, secretary of the city of Antwerp,
and the author of several well written Latin works. The young man, on
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