"The Greek merchant!" she whispered.
Beroviero looked where she was looking. By the first pillar, gazing
intently at Arisa's kneeling figure, stood Aristarchi, his hands folded
over his broad chest, his shaggy head bent forward, his sturdy legs a
little apart. He, too, had come to see the promised bride, and to be a
witness of the bargain whereby he also was to be enriched.
As Marietta came out of the church, she covered her face closely and
drew her silk mantle quite round her, bending her head a little. The
servant walked a few paces in front.
"You have seen your future husband, my child," said Beroviero.
"I suppose that the young noble was Messer Jacopo Contarini," answered
Marietta coldly.
"You are hard to please, if you are not satisfied with my choice for
you," observed her father.
To this Marietta said nothing. She only bent her head a little lower,
looking down as she trod delicately over the hot and dusty ground.
"And you are a most ungrateful daughter," continued Beroviero, "if you
do not appreciate my kindness and liberality of mind in allowing you to
see him before you are formally betrothed."
"Perhaps he is even more pleased by your liberality of mind than I could
possibly be," retorted the young girl with unbending coldness.
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