So the two set out at the heels of the German tourists. They went through the cathedral and the ducal palace, and when the bronze clock beat out the noon hour Merrihew was bursting with information such as would have filled any ordinary guide-book. He never dreamed that the world held so many different kinds of stone or half so many saints. As they started off for the hotel he declared that he would be willing to give ten dollars for a good twenty-round fight, as a counter-irritant.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" cried Hillard.
"I know it. It's like caviar; the taste has to grow. I'm capable of only a limited artistic education, Jack; so feed me slowly."
"You're in love."
"That's better than growing maudlin over a raft of saints who never did me any good. Your Titians and your Veroneses are splendid; there's color and life there. But these cross-eyed mosaics!" Merrihew threw up his hands in protest.
Hillard let go his laughter. Merrihew was amusing, and his frankness in regard to his lack of artistic temperament in nowise detracted from his considerable accomplishments.
As they passed out of the quadrangle a man accosted them. It was Giovanni, with a week's growth of beard on his face, his clothes ragged and his shoes out at the toes. Swiftly he enjoined silence.
"Follow me," he said softly.
He led them through tortuous streets, over canal after canal, toward the Campo San Angelo. He came to a stop before a dilapidated tenement and signified that the journey was at an end. The three mounted the dusty worn stairs of stone to the third landing; and from all sides they were assailed by the odor of fish and garlic. Giovanni opened a door and bade them enter.
"Why did you run away from me last night, Giovanni?"