"I am Zorzi." "That is the name, sir," answered the man respectfully.

"My master begs the honour and pleasure of your company this evening, as usual." "Where ?" asked Zorzi.
"My master said that you would know the place, sir, having been there before." "What is your master's name ?" "The Angel," answered the man promptly, keeping his eyes on Zorzi's face.
The latter nodded, and the servant at once made an awkward obeisance preparatory to going away.
"Tell your master," said Zorzi, "that I have hurt my foot and am walking on crutches, so that I cannot come this evening, but that I thank him for his invitation, and send greeting to him and to the other guests." The man repeated some of the words in a tone hardly audible, evidently committing the message to memory.
"Signor Zorzi--hurt his foot--crutches--thanks--greeting," he mumbled.
"Yes, sir," he added in his ordinary voice, "I will say all that.

Your servant, sir." With another awkward bow, he turned away to the right and walked very quickly along the footway.

He had left his boat at the entrance to the canal, not knowing exactly where the glass-house was.

Zorzi looked after him a moment, then turned himself on his sound foot and set his crutches before him to go in.