"You are free, sir," said one of the guards very civilly, and holding
the door open.
Zorzi went out in a dream, finding his way he knew not how, as he
received a word of direction here and there from soldiers who guarded
the staircases. When he was aware of outer things he was standing under
the portico that surrounds the courtyard of the ducal palace. The broad
parchment was unrolled in his hands and his eyes were puzzling over the
Latin words and the unfamiliar abbreviations; on one side of him stood
old Beroviero, reading over his shoulder with absorbed interest, and on
the other was Zuan Venier, glancing at the document with the careless
certainty of one who knows what to expect. Two steps away Pasquale
stood, in his best clothes and his clean shirt, for he had been one of
the witnesses, and he was firmly planted on his bowed legs, his long
arms hanging down by his sides; his little red eyes were fixed on
Zorzi's face, his ugly jaw was set like a mastiff's, and his
extraordinary face seemed cut in two by a monstrous smile of delight.
"It seems to be in order," said Venier, politely smothering with his
gloved hand the beginning of a yawn.
"I owe it to you, I am sure," answered Zorzi, turning grateful eyes to
him.
"No, I assure you," said the patrician.
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