f curiosity, and through her
veil Marietta looked again, till she saw his soft brown eyes
scrutinising her appearance; then she turned quickly away, for she had
looked long enough. She saw that a woman in black was kneeling by the
next pillar, watching her intently with a sort of cold stare that almost
made her shudder. Yet the woman was exceedingly beautiful. It was easy
to see that, though the dark veil hid half her face and its folds
concealed most of her figure. The mysterious, almond-shaped eyes were
those of another race, the marble cheek was more perfectly modelled and
turned than an Italian's, the curling golden hair was more glorious than
any Venetian's. Arisa had come to see her master's bride, and he knew
that she was there looking on. Why should he care? It was a bargain, and
he was not going to give up Arisa and the house of the Agnus Dei because
he meant to marry the rich glass-blower's daughter.

Marietta imagined no connection between the woman and the man, who thus
insolently came to the same place to look at her, pretending not to know
one another; and when she looked back at Contarini she felt a miserable
little thrill of vanity as she noticed that he was looking fixedly at
her, and that his eyes did not wander to the face of that other woman,
who was so much more beautiful than herself. Perhaps, after all, he
would really prefer her to that matchless creature close beside her!
Nothing mattered, of course, since Zorzi did not love her, but after all
it was flattering to be admired by Jacopo Contarini, who could choose
his wife where he pleased, through the whole world.

It all happened in a few seconds. The two men exchanged a few words, to
which she paid no attention, and took leave of each other with great
ceremony and much bowing on both sides. When her father turned at last,
Marietta was already walking towards the door, the servant by her left
side. Beroviero had scarcely joined her when she started a little, and
laid her hand upon his arm.

"The Greek merchant!" she whispered.

Beroviero looked where she was looking. By the first pillar, gazing
intently at Arisa's kneeling figure, stood Aristarchi, his hands folded
over his broad chest, his shaggy head bent forward, his sturdy legs a
little apart. He, too, had come to see the promised bride, and to be a
witness of the bargain whereby he also was to be enriched.

As Marietta came out of the church, she covered her face closely and
drew her s