sword and hat, a mask, dice and dice-box, a portfolio, and an inkstand of silver curiously carved.
"Well, Mascari," said the Prince, looking up towards his parasite, who stood by the embrasure of the deep-set barricadoed window — "well! the Cardinal sleeps with his fathers. I require comfort for the loss of so excellent a relation; and where a more dulcet voice than Viola Pisani's? "Is your Excellency serious? So soon after the death of his Eminence?"
"It will be the less talked of, and I the less suspected. Hast thou ascertained the name of the insolent who baffled us that night, and advised the Cardinal the next day?"
"Not yet."
"Sapient Mascari! I will inform thee. It was the strange Unknown."
"The Signor Zanoni! Are you sure, my Prince?"
"Mascari, yes. There is a tone in that man's voice that I never can mistake; so clear, and so commanding, when I hear it I almost fancy there is such a thing as conscience. However, we must rid ourselves of an impertinent. Mascari, Signor Zanoni hath not yet honoured our poor house with his presence. He is a distinguished stranger — we must give a banquet in his honour."
"Ah! and the Cyprus wine! The cypress is a proper emblem of the grave."
"But this anon. I am superstitious: there are strange stories of Zanoni's power and foresight; re-
