"
"She spoke English," stammered Tony.
"Oh--ah--precisely: she learned the language at the Court of Saint
James's, where her father, the Senator, was formerly accredited as
Ambassador. She played as an infant with the royal princes of
England."
"And that was her father?"
"Assuredly: young ladies of Donna Polixena's rank do not go abroad
save with their parents or a duenna."
Just then a soft hand slid into Tony's. His heart gave a foolish
bound, and he turned about half-expecting to meet again the merry
eyes under the hood; but saw instead a slender brown boy, in some
kind of fanciful page's dress, who thrust a folded paper between his
fingers and vanished in the throng. Tony, in a tingle, glanced
surreptitiously at the Count, who appeared absorbed in his prayers.
The crowd, at the ringing of a bell, had in fact been overswept by a
sudden wave of devotion; and Tony seized the moment to step beneath
a lighted shrine with his letter.
"I am in dreadful trouble and implore your help. Polixena"--he read;
but hardly had he seized the sense of the words when a hand fell on
his shoulder, and a stern-looking man in a cocked hat, and bearing a
kind of rod or mace, pronounced a few words in Venetian.
Tony, with a start, thrust the letter in his breast, and tried to
jerk himself free; but the harder he jerked the tighter grew the
other's grip, and the Count, presently perceiving what had happened,
pushed his way through the crowd, and whispered hastily to his
companion: "For God's sake, make no struggle.
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