“Yes, it is a great curiosity, this dial,” purred the priest with satisfaction. “Here, in the cool of summer nights, when the sirocco has been blowing all day, I often come to sit and ponder the issues of life and death, as, no doubt, the old astrologer did before me.”
“You have a splendid view,” I remarked carelessly. “What is that square tower over there? It appears to be the tower of a palace.”
“Yes, signore, it is the tower of the Palazzo Cæsarini. If you are architects, you ought to see that palace. It is full of interest.”
“The Cæsarini Palace, you said, I think?” inquired St. Hilary, still scribbling.
“Exactly, and it is known popularly as the Palazzo degli Scrigni.”
“The Palace of the Iron Safes!” I cried, startled.
“The signori Inglesi must understand that, very long ago, when the house of the Cæsarini was the most powerful in Venice, as it still is one of the richest, the Prince Cæsarini had two great iron safes built in the walls of his cellars to keep his treasure in. These safes were contrived by a certain goldsmith called da Sestos. Yes, the palace is worth seeing. But do not attempt to see it until after Wednesday, because a grand bal masqué is to be given on that evening, and they are busy making great preparations.”
“Ah, yes, we must have a look at it some time,” said St. Hilary carelessly. “A thousand thanks for your courtesy, father. Buona sera.”
“Buona sera, signori.”