Beside her, Angelo Beroviero was splendid in dark red cloth and purple
silk. He was proud of his daughter, who was betrothed to the heir of a
great Venetian house, he was proud of his own achievements, of his
wealth, of the richly furnished gondola, of his two big young oarsmen in
quartered yellow and blue hose and snowy shirts, and of his liveried man
in blue and gold, who sat outside the low 'felse' on a little stool,
staff in hand, ready to attend upon his master and young mistress
whenever they should please to go on foot.
Marietta had got into the gondola without so much as glancing across the
canal to see whether Zorzi were standing there to see them push off, as
he often did when she and her father went out together. If he were
there, she meant to show him that she could be more indifferent than he;
if he were not, she would show herself that she did not care enough even
to look for him. But when the gondola was out of sight of the house she
wished she knew whether he had looked out or not.
Her father had told her that they were going to dine with the Procurator
Foscarini and his wife. The pair had one daughter, of Marietta's age,
and she was a cripple from birth. Marietta was fond of her, and it was a
relief to get away from Murano, even for half a day.
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