If this were true he had paid four hundred ducats for a foolish fancy. She was perhaps the child of some beautiful slave, and had been carefully educated by her mother's owner; and the latter, needing money perhaps, had sent her to the market; or perhaps he had died and his heirs were selling his property.
All this was very unsatisfactory. If she was slave-born, Zeno's best course was to send Arethusa to Pesaro, as soon as the Venetian ship sailed, for he had not the least intention of wasting money in a futile attempt to free slaves whom the law regarded as born to their condition. Their position was a misfortune, no doubt, but they were used to it, and no one had then dreamed of man's inherent right of freedom, excepting one or two popes and fanatics who had been considered visionaries. To Zeno, who was a man of his own times, it seemed quite as absurd that every one should be born free, as it would seem to you that everybody should be born an English duke, a Tammany boss, a great opera tenor, or Crown Prince of the Empire. Moreover, in the case of a beauty, especially of one sold to live in Venice, there were palliations, as Zeno knew. Arethusa would live in luxury; she would also soon be the real dominant in Marco Pesaro's household, as favourite slaves very generally were in the palaces of those who owned them. They had not yet all the vast influence in Venice which they gained in the following century, but their power was already waxing balefully.
Zeno did not hesitate long; he never did, and when he had made up his mind he sent for one of Arethusa's maids.
'What is your name, child?' he asked, scrutinising the girl's commonplace features and intelligent eyes.
'Yulia, Magnificence,' she answered. 'If it please you,' she added diffidently, as if half-expecting that he would choose to call her something else.
'Yulia,' repeated Zeno, fixing the name in his memory, 'and what do you call your mistress?' he asked abruptly.
The girl was puzzled by the question.
'Her name is Arethusa,' she answered, after a moment's reflection.
'I know that. But when you speak to her, what do you call her? When she gives you an order, how do you answer her? You do not merely say, "Yes, Arethusa," or "No, Arethusa," do you? She would not be pleased.'
Yulia smiled and shook her head.