s strength collapsed, he fell
forward from his knee to his full length in the ashes and dust, and he
felt nothing more.

CHAPTER X

The porter unbarred the door and looked out. It was nearly noon and the
southerly breeze was blowing. The footway was almost deserted. On the
other side of the canal, in the shadow of the Beroviero house, an old
man who sold melons in slices had gone to sleep under a bit of ragged
awning, and the flies had their will of him and his wares. A small boy
simply dressed in a shirt, and nothing else, stood at a little distance,
looking at the fruit and listening attentively to the voice of the
tempter that bade him help himself.

Pasquale looked at the house opposite. Everything was quiet, and the
shutters were drawn together, but not quite closed. The flowers outside
Marietta's window waved in the light breeze.

"Nella!" cried Pasquale, just as he was accustomed to call the maid when
Marietta wanted her.

At the sound of his voice the little boy, who was about to deal
effectually with his temptation by yielding to it at once, took to his
heels and ran away. But no one looked out from the house. Pasquale
called again, somewhat louder. The shutters of Marietta's window were
slowly opened inward and Marietta herself appeared, all in white and
pale, looking over the flowers.

"What is it?" she asked. "Why do you want Nella?"

The canal was narrow, so that one could talk across it almost in an
ordinary tone.

"Your pardon, lady," answered Pasquale. "I did not mean to disturb you.
There has been a little accident here, saving your grace."

This he added to avert possible ill fortune. Marietta instantly thought
of Zorzi. She leaned forward upon the window-sill above the flowers and
spoke anxiously.

"What has happened? Tell me quickly!"

"A man has had his foot badly burned--it must be dressed at once."

"Who is it?"

"Zorzi."

Pasquale saw that Marietta started a little and drew back. Then she
leaned forward again.

"Wait there a minute," she said, and disappeared quickly.

The porter heard her calling Nella from an inner room, and then he heard
Nella's voice indistinctly. He waited before the open door.

Nella was a born chatterer, but she had her good qualities, and in an
emergency she was silent and skilful.

"Leave it to me," she said. "He will need no surgeon."

In her room she had a small store of simple remedies, sweet oil, a pot
of balsam, old linen carefully