When Zorzi had said the last word, Venier grasped his hand, at the same
time taking off the mask he wore, and he looked into the young man's
face.

"I am Zuan Venier," he said, his indolent manner returning as he spoke.

"I am Jacopo Contarini," said the master of the house, offering his hand
next.

Zorzi looked first at one, and then at the other; the first was a very
pale young man, with bright blue eyes and delicate features that were
prematurely weary and even worn; Contarini was called the handsomest
Venetian of his day. Yet of the two, most men and women would have been
more attracted to Venier at first sight. For Contarini's silken beard
hardly concealed a weak and feminine mouth, with lips too red and too
curving for a man, and his soft brown eyes had an unmanly tendency to
look away while he was speaking. He was tall, broad shouldered, and well
proportioned, with beautiful hands and shapely feet, yet he did not give
an impression of strength, whereas Venier's languid manner, assumed as
it doubtless was, could not hide the restless energy that lay in his
lean frame.

One by one the other companions came up to Zorzi, took off their masks
and grasped his hand, and he heard their lips pronounce names famous in
Venetian history, Loredan, Mocenigo, Foscari and many others. But he saw
that not one of them all was over five-and-twenty years of age, and with
the keenness of the waif who had fought his own way in the world he
judged that these were not men who could overturn the great Republic and
build up a new government. Whatever they might prove to be in danger and
revolution, however, he had saved his life by casting his lot with