"Not in there!" gasped Tonin, retreating toward the stair door; "I should die of fright before those great folk."
"Hurry, hurry, you impudent monkey! Do you think you can keep the Duke d'Asolo waiting?"
To make an end of the argument, Vittori seized the boy by the arm, giving him a push that sent him into the banquet-room with a rush.
Tonin was half-blinded by the myriads of lights, and quite dazed by the grandeur of the spectacle. He dimly comprehended that the vast apartment was hung with vines and banked with flowers; that a table like a huge cross ran the entire length and nearly the breadth of the room; that the Duke d'Asolo sat at the upper end, and that hosts of ladies and gentlemen in gorgeous raiment turned about in their chairs and fixed their eyes upon the young visitor.
A scalding wave of shame rushed upward through Tonin's body, scorching his cheeks and dyeing his neck as he became conscious of his own workaday garb. He came to an abrupt stop, standing with downcast eyes before the Venetian company, a truly diverting figure with his loose blouse, rolled-up trousers and sleeves, bare arms, bare legs, and dripping apron.
"Come, my lad, and tell us something about yourself," said the duke in a tone surprisingly gentle for one who palpitated with wrath and vengeance.
Tonin made his way slowly up the room, pausing at the duke's elbow, and raising his eyes just far enough to get a glimpse of his yellow lion on the table, directly before Giovanni Falier.
"When did you do this?" inquired the master of the feast, indicating the ornament with his jewelled index finger.
"To-night," admitted Tonin feebly.