will
soon drive me mad."

The pale Crescentia lookt at him with such an unutterable expression,
such a weight of sadness over her face, that the tears gusht from his
eyes.

"Faith, he is drunk already!" howled the old woman. "Speak, tell me,
is the Podesta's daughter dead then? Dead is she? and when?"

"This evening," said the weeper, "I met her corpse."

"So she too!" continued the old woman merrily, as she filled her glass
again. "Well, now will the family of Marconi in Venice be right glad."

"Why so?"

"Because they are now the only heirs to their rich kinsman. This is
what the long-sighted knaves have always wisht, but could never hope
for."

"Woman!" exclaimed Antonio with new horrour; "why thou knowest
everything!"

"Not everything," replied she, "but some little. And then a good deal
more may perhaps be guessed at. And I will not deny it, a little
witchcraft now and then helps on the game. Only don't be too much
frightened at it. Nor in truth was it altogether for nothing that
their Florentine worships would have built me a throne of faggots:
some petty trifling bits of reasons for this wish they might fairly
enough have brought forward.... Look me in the face, boy! stroak away
the curls from thy forehead: good! now give me thy left hand: the
right: heyday! strange and marvellous! That's it; some near misfortune
is hanging over thee; but if thou outlivest it, thou wilt see thy
beloved again."

"In the next world!" sighed Antonio.

"The next world? what is the next world?" cried the old hag in her
drunkenness: "no, in this world, here, on what we call earth. What
words the fools make use of! There is no next world, you silly
ninnyhammer! he who does not skim off the fat from the broth while he
is here, is a wretched gull. This however is what they clack to their
simple brood, that they may behave prettily, and keep within bounds,
and go the way one would lead them: but whosoever believes none of
their fabling, he is free on the strength of this, and can do what his
heart lusteth after."

Antonio eyed her wrathfully, and was about to make an indignant reply;
but the pale Crescentia interposed such a humble beseeching look for
her mother that his anger was disarmed.

The old woman yawned and rubbed her eyes, and it was not long before,
stupefied as she was by the repeated draughts of strong wine, she fell
fast asleep.

The fire on the hearth was gone out, and the lamp now only cast a
faint glimm