“Is Cottalto, whom my letters have so often mentioned.” (I know not if the author of the original MSS. designs, under these names, to introduce the real Cottalto and the true Dandolo, who, in 1797, distinguished themselves by their sympathy with the French, and their democratic ardor.—Ed.)
“Health and brotherhood to him! I have much to impart to you both. I will meet you at night, Dandolo. But in the streets we may be observed.”
“And I dare not appoint my own house; tyranny makes spies of our very walls. But the place herein designated is secure;” and he slipped an address into the hand of his correspondent.
“To-night, then, at nine! Meanwhile I have other business.” The man paused, his colour changed, and it was with an eager and passionate voice that he resumed,—
“Your last letter mentioned this wealthy and mysterious visitor,—this Zanoni. He is still at Venice?”
“I heard that he had left this morning; but his wife is still here.”
“His wife!—that is well!”
“What know you of him? Think you that he would join us? His wealth would be—”
“His house, his address,—quick!” interrupted the man.
“The Palazzo di —, on the Grand Canal.”