"No, Princess, for we had not time. The crowd was all around us, you understand; and he drew up and talked to us, forcing himself to smile, like a nobleman amusing himself with two peasants. For the crown, we shall leave you to deal with him." "And I shall hold you to that bargain, O Marc'antonio," said she. "But what will you two be doing with yourselves meanwhile?" "With permission, Princess, we return to the theatre. We shall watch the play, and keep our eyes on him; and at half-past seven o'clock the girl Bianca dances in the ballet. Mbe! I have not witnessed a ballet since my days of travel." "And I will run home, then, and fetch my mask. At nine o'clock, you say?" "At nine, or a little after--and by the Weavers' Gate." "And you will leave him to me? You understand, you two, that there is to be no violence." "As we hope for Heaven, Princess." "Farewell, then, until nine o'clock!" She dismissed them, and they returned to the portico and passed into the theatre. "That is good," said she, turning to me with a sigh that seemed to lift a weight from her heart. "For, to tell the truth, I was afraid of them." 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. The snow by this time lay ankle-deep, and even deeper in the pitfalls with which the ill-lit streets abounded; but in twenty minutes I had reached the Via Balbi. The wind was rising; in spite of the snow driven against my face I had not noticed until I heard it humming in the alley which led under the shadow of the garden wall. I had scarcely noticed it before my ears caught the jingle of bells approaching swiftly down the Via Balbi. "Eh?" thought I, "is the Prince returning, then, to change his dress? Or has he sent home his carriage, meaning to pursue the adventure on foot?"