stretch out his
longing arms towards the beautiful goddess who comes to meet him borne
by balmy western winds? And when he presses her to his benumbed bosom,
when a gentle glow pervades his veins, where then is his ice and his
snow? You say you are eighty years old; that is true; but do you
measure old age then by years merely? Don't you carry your head as
erect and walk with as firm a step as you did forty summers ago? Or do
you perhaps feel that your strength is failing you, that you must carry
a lighter sword, that you grow faint when you walk fast, or get short
of breath when you ascend the steps of the Ducal Palace?" "No, by
Heaven, no," broke in Falieri upon his friend, as he turned away from
the window with an abrupt passionate movement and approached him, "no,
I feel no traces of age upon me." "Well then," continued Bodoeri, "take
deep draughts in your old age of all the delights of earth which are
now destined for you. Elevate the woman whom I have chosen for you to
be your Dogess; and then all the ladies of Venice will be constrained
to admit that she stands first of all in beauty and in virtue, even as
the Venetians recognise in you their captain in valour, intellect, and
power."

Bodoeri now began to sketch the picture of a beautiful woman, and in
doing so he knew how to mix his colours so cleverly, and lay them on
with so much vigour and effect, that old Falieri's eyes began to
sparkle, and his face grew redder and redder, whilst he puckered up his
mouth and smacked his lips as if he were draining sundry glasses of
fiery Syracuse. "But who is this paragon of loveliness of whom you are
speaking?" said he at last with a smirk. "I mean nobody else but my
dear niece--it's she I mean," replied Bodoeri. "What! your niece?"
interrupted Falieri. "Why, she was married to Bertuccio Nenolo when I
was Podesta of Treviso." "Oh! you are thinking about my niece
Francesca," continued Bodoeri, "but it is her sweet daughter whom I
intend for you. You know how rude, rough Nenolo was enticed to the wars
and drowned at sea. Francesca buried her pain and grief in a Roman
nunnery, and so I had little Annunciata brought up in strict seclusion
at my villa in Treviso"---- "What!" cried Falieri, again impatiently
interrupting the old man, "you mean me to raise your niece's daughter
to the dignity of Dogess? How long is it since Nenolo was married?
Annunciata must be a child--at the most only ten years old. When I was
Podesta in Trev