They had been talking, as was their wont, about their dashing, handsome son Pietro, the pride of their hearts, who was away in Venice, a clerk under his uncle, Giovanni Battista. They were a lonesome couple, and they deplored their four years' parting from their only boy. To be sure, he had often, indeed regularly, written to them happy, contented letters. Moreover, Messer Giovanni Battista had sent them very satisfactory reports of his application to business, but he named one subject, which filled the hearts of the doting parents with apprehension--it was, of course, a story of romance. Pietro had a sweetheart--that in itself caused little uneasiness; what healthy-minded young fellow had not! But Pietro had an unusually amorous nature, and his love escapades had not been few in Florence. In Venice, "the Court of Venus," he revelled in the fair beauty and the freedom of maidens, so much more lovely and so much less reserved, than the Florentine girls he knew. But when Messer Giovanni Battista named as his _innamorata_ the young daughter of one of the proudest patricians of the Serene Republic, the worthy couple were in trepidation lest the lad's passion should lead to regrettable embarrassments. No love was lost between the sister Republics, and the feeling of hostility in public matters was carried into private life. Pietro never named the romance, but Ser Zenobio, by way of meeting--as was his wont--his troubles half way, penned anxious cautions to his son. The Buonaventuri, though by no means an obscure family, were not _Grandi_ like the Cappelli, Lords of Venice. Moreover, Bianca's father was a wealthy man and a member of the Supreme Council, whilst Ser Zenobio was merely a modest notary of no great fame or fortune. It was bedtime, but hark! at the door were shuffling steps and voices whispering; and presently there came a gentle tap--repeated once or twice. Ser Zenobio rose to see what was passing outside his house. Peering into the gloom he saw two figures--one a girl's--and a voice he knew full well said: "Father, we have come to crave shelter and protection." "Who are you? My boy Pietro! And what are you doing here in Florence, and at this time of night?" Madonna Costanza was peeping over his shoulder, and both of them were greatly agitated, and awaited with anxiety Pietro's reply. "We have come from Venice and are very tired. See, father and mother, this is Bianca." Sternly answered Ser Zenobio. "What do you mean, Pietro? What shame is this you have done your parents? Who is Bianca, and what are you doing with her in Florence? You never said you were coming home. Explain yourself, or come not into your father's house." Heavy rain was falling, and Bianca was weeping as Pietro led her into the light of the candle his mother held. "Let them come in anyhow, Zenobio, and we can hear what they have got to say, without the neighbours hearing us," put in the tender-hearted woman.