Omobono bent his head politely, and wondered whether he should be able to repeat such an outlandish name.
'I am Messer Zeno's secretary,' he answered. 'What is your business, Master Porlias Dietroplant?'
'Gorlias,' corrected the other, quite unmoved. Gorlias Pietrogliant.'
'Master Gorlias—I beg your pardon.'
'I am an astrologer,' observed the visitor, seating himself on a high stool at Omobono's elbow, and relapsing into silence.
'You are an astrologer,' said the secretary tentatively, after a long pause, for he did not know what to say.
'Yes, I told you so,' replied Gorlias; and for a few seconds longer it did not seem to occur to him that there was anything else to be said.
There was something so oddly fixed in his look and so dull in his voice that Omobono began to fear that he might be a lunatic, which was indeed, in the secretary's opinion, much the same as an astrologer, for the Venetians were never great believers in the influence of the stars. But the visitor soon made him forget his suspicions by reviving his curiosity.
'The matter which brings me to you is of a very delicate nature,' said Gorlias, all at once speaking fluently and in a low voice. 'I have reason to believe that we are interested in the same business.'
'Are we?' asked the secretary in some surprise.