"I am the daughter of Paolo Cornaro, the first of our Venetian cavaliers, before whose galley the bravest ships of the Mussulmen have fled. Alas! were he now alive, I had not been thus at thy mercy! Unhand me, Count Strazoldi! Away, ruffian——" "The prettiest little chatterbox in Venice!" said the Count gaily. "But enough of this! Know that your loving lord and master has assigned you to me, for the sum of three thousand sequins, fairly won from him an hour ago at cards in the house of the Mondana; therefore art thou mine, signora, as this paper will testify." The swaggering libertine grasped firmer the shrinking girl with one hand, while with the other he displayed a paper, to which she saw with horror Giulio’s name attached. A glance served to inform her that the contents were such as her assailant had described them to be. La Torre, intoxicated with wine, and maddened by losses, had staked and lost his beautiful wife for the sum of three thousand sequins, to his reckless companion; who, hurrying away from the side of La Mondana, threw himself into his gondola, and reaching the palace of the Countess, had ascended to her apartment by the private stair: the key to the entrance of which, he had obtained from the depraved husband. Diomida trembled with shame and indignation, and would have swooned; but the revolting expression in the gloating eyes of Strazoldi, inspired her with the courage of desperation: she shrieked wildly, invoking the Madonna to protect her, as Stefano, inflamed by her beauty, and encouraged by her helplessness, was proceeding to greater violence. "Peace, pretty fool," he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "or I will twist this scarf round your throat, as I have done to many a less noisy damsel in the land of the Turk and Greek. Sformato! have I not gained you fairly at Faro from your husband, and offered him my sister Lucretia, in exchange? Silence woman! wouldst thou force me to gag thee with my poniard! Beware, ’tis of Campoforte." The ruffian laughed fiercely, and grasped her with a stern air of determination, while she redoubled her despairing cries for assistance. But, alas! the palace was empty now; and the few attendants sleeping in the basement heard her not. She was about to sink from exhaustion, when steps were heard springing up the private staircase. She exclaimed with passionate joy— "’Tis the Count! ’tis my husband! O Giulio, save your once-loved Diomida, before she expires at your feet!" It was not La Torre, but a tall and richly clad cavalier wearing the uniform of the Dalmatian Guards, and having a black velvet mask on his face, as if he had just left a masquerade. "Draw, Count Stefano! Ungallant ruffian! whose vices in peace obscure all the brilliant feats performed in war. Defend yourself." Strazoldi drew promptly, while Diomida overcome, sank upon a sofa almost lifeless.