that he ate several mouthfuls before he spoke again.

'I have always found the emotions to be great appetisers,' observed
Trombin, watching him. 'Men feast at a wedding, and gorge themselves
after a funeral. A fit of anger whets the appetite, for I have seen a
man fly into a towering passion with the cook and then immediately
devour the very dish he has found fault with, to the last scraping. As
for the passion of love, a French proverb says well that happiness makes
an empty stomach. I can only hope, my lord, that in a week's time you
may enjoy your supper as much, with satisfaction for a relish instead of
annoyance. As for me, the mere thought of doing some good in the world
makes me hungry.'

And as he spoke he began to eat another quail which he had already taken
on his plate. But Gambardella was more and more bored, and went to the
point, as soon as the Senator looked up from his plate.

'We understand,' he said, 'that some low-born fellow has carried off a
lady of your lordship's household. Do you know where they are?'

'No. I know nothing, except that they have either left Venice already or
will escape before morning.'

'That means a wide search,' said Gambardella.

'But an easy one,' the Senator replied. 'The man is Alessandro
Stradella, the singer, and may the devil get him!'

'He will be safer in our hands, my lord. The lady's name, and some
description of her, if you please.'

'Ortensia is her name. She is only seventeen years old, but is very
beautiful, for she is fair, and her hair is of a true auburn colour,
such as the lamented Titian often painted. Indeed, the young lady much
resembles that master's "Bella," though younger and thinner. With her is
fled also her nurse, a woman called Filippina, of middle age, with grey
eyes and greyish hair, once not bad-looking, and whose manners are above
her station.'

'I suppose she is commonly called Pina,' observed Gambardella. 'Let us
understand each other, my lord. I presume you wish the young lady and
the woman to be brought back to you, when the singer is dead.'

'Precisely. I shall say that she has been spending a week with a
relation of her mother's who is the Abbess of the Ursuline Nuns in
Ravenna.'

'Did you say the Ursulines in Ravenna, my lord?' asked Gambardella
slowly.

'Yes,' answered Pignaver, at first a little surprised by the question,
for he had spoken clearly, although the whole conversation was carried
on in low tones. The Bravo saw