The island and all the
glass-works are theirs, amongst them."
"I have business with Messer Angelo," said Aristarchi. "But if he is
such a great man he will hardly be in the glass-house."
"I will ask," answered the boatman.
In a few minutes he made his boat fast to the steps before the
glass-house, went ashore and knocked at the door. Aristarchi leaned back
in his seat, chewing pistachio nuts, which he carried in an embroidered
leathern bag at his belt. His right hand played mechanically with the
short string of thick amber beads which he used for counting. The June
sun blazed down upon his swarthy face.
At the grating beside the door the porter's head appeared, partially
visible behind the bars.
"Is Messer Angelo Beroviero within?" inquired the boatman civilly.
"What is your business?" asked the porter in a tone of surly contempt,
instead of answering the question.
"There is a rich foreign gentleman here, who desires to speak with him,"
answered the boatman.
"Is he the Pope?" asked the porter, with fine irony.
"No, sir," said the other, intimidated by the fellow's manner. "He is a
rich--"
"Tell him to wait, then." And the surly head disappeared.
The boatman supposed that the man was gone to speak with his master, and
waited patiently by the door.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117