'Her real name is Bianca Giustiniani; she is a Venetian by birth, and her father and mother died of the plague here soon after she was born. You see, sir, under the circumstances, and although the lady called herself a slave, such a commission as Messer Marco Pesaro's----' 'Omobono,' said Zeno, interrupting him again, 'get a priest here at once. I am going to be married.' 'Married, sir?' The little secretary was aghast. 'Send Vito for the priest!' And before Omobono could say more, Zeno had left the room. He found Zoë standing by the open window, and the morning sun was still streaming in. Her hair was not taken up yet, but lay like silk all over her shoulders, still damp from the bath. She was a little pale, as a flower that has blossomed in a dark room, and the rough white silk of the robe she drew closely round her showed by contrast the delicate tint and texture of her skin, and the sweet freshness of the tender and spiritual mouth. He took her hand and looked at her earnestly before he spoke. Only a night, a day and a night, had passed since he had understood what had hidden itself in his heart for weeks. That same truth had stolen into hers, too, but she had known what it meant. 'You kept your secret well,' he said--'too well!' She shook her head, thinking he spoke of her love. 'You knew it long ago,' she answered. 'And what you did not know, you guessed. You kept yours better far.' 'I kept that one from myself, as best I could,' said he, understanding what she meant. 'I could not keep it for ever! But since we know that we love, our life begins here, and together. Together, because you saved mine--I know everything, for they have told me; and so my life is yours, and yours is mine, because we were born to mate, as falcons mate with falcons, doves with doves, and song-birds with song-birds.' 'Say falcons!' laughed Zoë. 'I like the brave bird better!' 'I do, too,--and so my little falcon, Arethusa, we must wing it together to a safer nest before Tocktamish or some other barbarian stirs up a counter-revolution. Will you come with me?' [Illustration: 'Am I not your bought slave?' she asked. 'I must obey.'] She smiled and laid her hand in his. 'Am I not your bought slave?' she asked. 'I must obey.' 'That is not enough. We are Christian man and maid. You shall go with me in honour to my own people.' 'A gentleman of Venice cannot marry a slave,' she objected, though she smiled. He laughed, happily, and drew back from her a little. 'A gentleman of Venice may do what seems good in his own eyes, if it be not treason,' he said. 'I publish the banns of marriage between Messer Carlo Zeno, of Venice, bachelor, and Arethusa----' 'Of Rustan Karaboghazji's slave market, spinster!' suggested Zoë, laughing with him. 'It is a noble alliance for the great Doge's house, sir!'