One day in this week, at this hour, he is to meet me here.
This is but the fourth day." He had scarce said these words before a man, wrapped in his roquelaire, emerging from one of the narrow streets to the left, halted opposite the pair, and eying them for a few moments with an earnest scrutiny, whispered, "Salut!" "Et fraternite," answered the speaker.
"You, then, are the brave Dandolo with whom the Comite deputed me to correspond?
And this citizen--" "Is Cottalto, whom my letters have so often mentioned." (I know not if the author of the original MSS.

designs, under these names, to introduce the real Cottalto and the true Dandolo, who, in 1797, distinguished themselves by their sympathy with the French, and their democratic ardor .-- Ed.) "Health and brotherhood to him! I have much to impart to you both.

I will meet you at night, Dandolo.

But in the streets we may be observed." "And I dare not appoint my own house; tyranny makes spies of our very walls.

But the place herein designated is secure;" and he slipped an address into the hand of his correspondent.
"To-night, then, at nine! Meanwhile I have other business." The man paused, his colour changed, and it was with an eager and passionate voice that he resumed,-- "Your last letter mentioned this wealthy and mysterious visitor,--this Zanoni.