"
So they talked in whispers, but the priest had passed already into the
great hall of the palace and was speaking to a lackey there.
"My friend," he said, "I come in the name of the Signori. If you would
not hear from them to-morrow, announce me to none."
The lackey drew back, quailing before the threat.
"Excellency," he exclaimed, "I am but a servant--"
"And shall find a better place as you serve Venice faithfully."
He passed on with noiseless steps, mounting the splendid marble
staircase upon which the masterpieces of Titian and of Paolo Veronese
looked down. At the head of the stairs, there was a painted door,
which he had but to open to find himself face to face with those who
were still telling each other that he was dead.
For an instant, perhaps, a sense of the danger of his mission
possessed him. He knew well that one false step, one word
undeliberated, would be paid for with his own blood. But even in the
face of this reckoning he did not hesitate. He was there to save
Venice from her enemies; the God of Venice would protect him. And
so without word or warning, he opened the door and stood, bold and
unflinching, before those he had come to accuse.
There were four at table, and one was a woman. The priest knew
her well. She had been called the most beautiful woman in
Venice--Catherine, Countess of Treviso. Still young, with a face which
spoke of ambition and of love, her white neck glittered with the
jewels it carried, her dress of blue velvet was such a dress as only a
noblewoman of Venice could wear.
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