"
"Then I am not jealous of the rest, least of all, of your young bride. I
will wager with myself against all her gold for your life, and I shall
win--I have won already! Am I not trying to persuade you that you should
marry?"
"I have not even seen her. Her father sent me a message to-night,
bidding me go to church on Sunday and stand beside a certain pillar."
"To see and be seen," laughed Arisa. "It is not a fair exchange! She
will look at the handsomest man in the world--hush! That is the truth.
And you will see a little, pale, red-haired girl with silly blue eyes,
staring at you, her wide mouth open and her clumsy hands hanging down.
She will look like the wooden dolls they dress in the latest Venetian
fashion to send to Paris every year, that the French courtiers may know
what to wear! And her father will hurry her along, for fear that you
should look too long at her and refuse to marry such a thing, even for
Marco Polo's millions!"
Contarini laughed carelessly at the description.
"Give me some wine," he said. "We will drink her health."
Arisa rose with the grace of a young goddess, her hair tumbling over her
bare shoulders in a splendid golden confusion. Contarini watched her
with possessive eyes, as she went and came back, bringing him the drink.
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