Gonzaga.—That is well. It seems that my recommendations have obtained some weight with him, since his triumvirate has been removed. And in the evening a masked ball is to be given. Did not the Doge’s chamberlain say so?
Falieri.—He did.
Memmo.—I only hope there is no trick in all this. If he should have been given a hint of our conspiracy! Mercy on us! my teeth chatter at the thought.
Gonzaga.—Absurd! By what means should our designs have been made known to him? The thing is impossible.
Memmo.—Impossible? What, when there’s scarce a cutpurse, housebreaker, or vagabond in Venice who has not been enlisted in our service, would it be so strange if the Doge discovered a little of the business? A secret which is known to so many, how should it escape his penetration?
Contarino.—Simpleton! the same thing happens to him which happens to betrayed husbands. Everyone can see the horns except the man who carries them. And yet I confess it is full time that we should realise our projects, and prevent the possibility of our being betrayed.
Falieri.—You are right, friend; everything is ready now. The sooner that the blow is struck the better.
Parozzi.—Nay, the discontented populace, which at present sides with us, would be perfectly well pleased if the sport began this very night; delay the business longer, and their anger against Andreas will cool, and render them unfit for our purpose.
Contarino.—Then let us decide the game at once; be to-morrow the important day. Leave the Doge to my disposal. I’ll at least engage to bury my poniard in his heart, and then let the business end as it may, one of two things must happen: either we shall rescue ourselves from all trouble and vexation, by throwing everything into uproar and confusion, or else we shall sail with a full wind from this cursed world to another.
Parozzi.—Mark me, friends, we must go armed to the Doge’s entertainment.