She clapped her hands. 'Take this back to the secretary,' she said, giving the book to Yulia. 'Tell him I am not a merchant's clerk, and that I want something to read.' Again little Yulia tripped downstairs to the ground floor. But the counting-house was locked, and the men-servants told her that Omobono had gone out. She would not leave the book with them, for she had a superstitiously exaggerated idea of the value of all written things; therefore, after a moment's hesitation, she turned and carried it upstairs again, though she did not like the idea of facing her mistress. At the first landing she almost ran against the master of the house, who asked her what she was carrying and where she was going. He spoke rather sharply, and Yulia was frightened and told him the whole story, explaining that Zoë seemed to be in a bad temper, and would be angry with her for bringing back the account-book, but that it was Omobono's fault. How could he dare to suppose that the Kokóna could not read? And why was he out? And if he was not out why had the men-servants told her that he was? The little slave did as all slaves and servants naturally do when they wish to gain favour with the master; she hinted that all the other servants in the house were in league to do evil, and that she only was righteous. Zeno carelessly looked through the pages of the account-book as he stood listening to her tale. 'You talk too much,' he observed, when she paused. 'Go upstairs.' Thereupon he turned his back on her and went in under the heavy curtain to his own room, taking the book with him and leaving Yulia considerably disconcerted. She looked at the curtain disconsolately for a few seconds, and then slowly ascended the second flight of steps to the women's apartments. A few minutes later Zeno himself followed her, with another book in his hand. He knocked discreetly at the outer door, and Lucilla opened, for Yulia was still explaining to Zoë what had happened. The maid stood aside to let the master pass through the vestibule which separated the inner rooms from the staircase. Zeno raised the curtain and went in. 'I am no great reader,' he said, as he came forward towards the divan, 'but I have brought you this old book. It may amuse you. The man died more than fifty years ago, and I fancy he was mad; but there must be something in his poem, for it has been copied again and again. This was given me by the Emperor Charles when I was with him in Venice.' Zoë had time to recover from her surprise and to study his face and manner while he spoke, and again she was convinced that he was a little shy in her presence. If she changed colour at all he did not see it, for though he glanced at her two or three times, he looked more often at the book he held. As he finished speaking he placed it in her hands and his eyes met hers.