"My most dear sir!" he exclaimed. "This is indeed good fortune!"
"Mine, Messer Jacopo!" returned Beroviero with equally well-feigned
astonishment.
Marietta had looked Contarini full in the face before she had time to
draw her veil across her own. She stepped back and placed herself behind
her father, protected as it were by their serving-man, who stood beside
her with his staff. She understood instantly that the magnificent
patrician was the man of whom her father had spoken as her future
husband. Seen, as she had seen him, in the glowing church, in the most
splendid surroundings that could be imagined, he was certainly a man at
whom any woman would look twice, even out of curiosity, and through her
veil Marietta looked again, till she saw his soft brown eyes
scrutinising her appearance; then she turned quickly away, for she had
looked long enough. She saw that a woman in black was kneeling by the
next pillar, watching her intently with a sort of cold stare that almost
made her shudder. Yet the woman was exceedingly beautiful. It was easy
to see that, though the dark veil hid half her face and its folds
concealed most of her figure. The mysterious, almond-shaped eyes were
those of another race, the marble cheek was more perfectly modelled and
turned than an Italian's, the curling golden hair was more glorious than
any Venetian's.
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