CHAPTER XIX.
Of the business appointed to the painter, and how he set about the same.
The young man had risen and was standing by the table when we turned from the window; he seemed greatly refreshed, his face had lost its livid hue of passion and death, and looked the better for a tinge of colour. He met our regard boldly, yet with no braggart, insolent air, but the composure of a brave man facing his trial with a consciousness of right upon his side.
"I would ask you," says the Don, seating himself on t'other side the table, "why you refused to do that before?"
"Sir," answers he, "I have lost everything in the world save some small modicum of pride, which, being all I have, I do cherish, maybe, unduly. And so, when these unmannerly hinds took me by the throat, calling on me to tell my name and business, this spirit within me flaring up, I could not answer with the humility of a villain seeking to slink out of danger by submissive excuses."
"Be seated," says the Don, accepting this explanation with a bow. "How may we call you?"
"In Venice," replies the other, with some hesitation, "I was called Dario a name given me by my fellow-scholars because my English name was not to their taste."
"Enough," says the Don. "I can understand a man of better fortune, as I perceive you have been, wishing in such a position as this to retain his incognito. There are
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