"Messer Magagnati," he began awkwardly, twirling his black cap in his
hand rather after the fashion of a gondolier than of the Chief of the
Nicolotti, "I must crave, by dawn of the morrow, the blessing of San
Nicolo--of holy memory."
"Enter," said Girolamo, with a reluctance not wholly concealed by his
attempt at courtesy, for he felt the moments to be the more precious
that the dawn was near; but the invocation of the sailor's patron saint
portended a journey. "Verily, Piero, thy comings and goings have been,
of late, so frequent that one learns the wisdom of not mourning
over-much when thou dost crave an ave at the shrine of San Nicolo. May
he grant thee favoring breezes! Thou art in favor with the Ten, they
tell me."
Piero shrugged his shoulders. "Favor or disfavor," he said, "it is but
the turning of the head--and both may lead to that place of unsought
distinction between San Marco and San Teodoro, if the orders of their
Excellencies bring not the end they sought. But it matters little--a
candle flame is better blown out than dying spent.
Pages:
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431