"
For me, I was afraid of them still, having observed some constraint
in Marc'antonio as he told his story, and also that, though I tried
him, his eyes refused to meet mine. To be sure, there was a natural
awkwardness in speaking of the Prince to his sister. Nevertheless
Marc'antonio's manner made me uneasy.
It continued to worry me after I had escorted the Princess back to
our lodgings. Across the court, in the chamber over the archway,
some one was playing very prettily upon a mandolin. In spite of the
cold I stepped to the outer door to listen, and stood there gazing
out upon the thick-falling snow, busy with my thoughts.
Yes, decidedly Marc'antonio's manner had been strange. . . .
While I stood there, a clock, down in the city, chimed out the
half-hour. Its deep note, striking across the tinkle of the
mandolin, fetched me out of my brown study. Half-past seven. . . .
I had an hour and a half to spare; ample time to step down to the
Palazzo Verde and reconnoitre. If only I could hit upon some scent
of the priest Domenico!
I started at a brisk pace to warm my blood, which had taken a chill
from the draught of the doorway.
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