At the end of the room, not far from the fireplace, were collected the

foreigners who were engaged in commerce at Antwerp. Although they had

assembled for amusement, they were conversing, through habit, upon the

expected arrival of vessels, and the price of gold and different kinds of

merchandise. Among these foreigners was to be seen every description of

costume, and every variety of tongue could be heard. The Spaniard found

himself beside a native of Lucca, the Portuguese near the Florentine, the

English with the Genoese, the German next to the Venetian; and, as on

Change at Antwerp, they found means to understand each other.

Mr. Van de Werve had at first remained near the door in order to welcome

his guests as they entered; but supposing that the greater part of those

invited had arrived, he left this place and was walking from group to

group, joining in conversation for a few moments, and saying some pleasant

words to each.

The old Deodati had seated himself in an arm-chair apart. So many had

welcomed him on his arrival at Antwerp, and he had been the object of so

much polite attention, that, being fatigued from standing and talking, he

was now seeking some repose.

By his side was Simon Turchi, conversing familiarly and in a low tone with

the old man. The hypocrite feigned an extraordinary affection for the

venerable nobleman, and flattered him by every expression of respect and

esteem. They had already spoken of the attempted assassination, and Simon

Turchi had expressed his astonishment, for he did not believe that

Geronimo had an enemy in the world. It was quite likely that Bufferio had

made a mistake as to the individual, a thing which might easily have

happened in so dark a night.

While Simon Turchi, with apparent calmness, thus conversed with the old

gentleman, he was evidently meditating some wicked design; for while

talking, his eyes incessantly wandered to Geronimo, and he endeavored to

divine from his countenance the subject of his conversation. He did not

for one instant lose sight of Mary's betrothed.

After speaking of the assassination, the old Deodati glanced around the

room upon the different groups of guests, and he asked Turchi: "Who is the gentleman in purple velvet, who is the object of such marked

respect from the merchants around him? I do not mean the tall old man, I

am acquainted with him, he is the rich Fugger of Augsburg; I am speaking

of the one who stands beside him."

"He is a banker, signor," replied Simon Turchi. "He is very rich, and his

name is Lazarus Tucher. The gentleman before him is the head of the house

of the Hochstetter. The gentlemen conversing with him belong to the

distinguished commercial houses of the Gigli, the Spignoli, and the

Gualterotti. A little apart, and behind them, is Don Pezoa, the

superintendent of the king of Portugal; he is speaking with Diégo d'Aro,

and Antonio de Vaglio, superintendents from Spain. The gentlemen near them

are Italian and Portuguese merchants, whose names I could tell you, for I

know them all, but such details would not interest you."




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