Contarino boasted that he doubted not before long to be
appointed to the vacant procuratorship. Parozzi reckoned for HIS
share upon Rosabella's hand, and the place either of Lomellino or
Manfrone, when once those two chief obstacles to his hope should be
removed. Such was the conversation in which they were engaged, when
the clock struck twelve, the doors flew wide, and Abellino stood
before them.
"Wine, there!" cried he; "the work is done. Manfrone and Lomellino
are at supper with the worms. And I have thrown the Doge himself
into such a fit of terror that I warrant he will not recover himself
easily. Now answer are you content with me, you bloodhounds?"
"Next, then, for Flodoardo!" shouted Parozzi.
"Flodoardo!" muttered Abellino between his teeth; "hum--hum--that's
not so easy."
BOOK THE THIRD
CHAPTER I: THE LOVERS.
Rosabella, the idol of all Venice, lay on the bed of sickness; a
sorrow, whose cause was carefully concealed from every one,
undermined her health, and destroyed the bloom of her beauty. She
loved the noble Flodoardo; and who could have known Flodoardo and
not have loved him? His majestic stature, his expressive
countenance, his enthusiastic glance, his whole being declared
aloud--Flodoardo is Nature's favourite, and Rosabella had been
always a great admirer of Nature.
But if Rosabella was ill, Flodoardo was scarcely better. He
confined himself to his own apartment; he shunned society, and
frequently made long journeys to different cities of the Republic,
in hopes of distracting his thoughts by change of place from that
object which, wherever he went, still pursued him.
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