Chapter 4

"The ship is here put in,
A Veronese; Michael Cassio,
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,
Is come on shore."

_Othello_.

The glance which Ithuel cast around him was brief, but comprehensive. He
saw that two of the party in the room were much superior to the other
four, and that the last were common Mediterranean mariners. The position
which Benedetta occupied in the household could not be mistaken, for she
proclaimed herself its mistress by her very air; whether it were in the
upper or in the lower room.

"Vino," said Ithuel, with a flourish of the hand, to help along his
Italian, this and one or two more being the only words of the language
he ventured to use directly, or without calling in the assistance of his
interpreter; "vino--vino, vino, Signora."

"Si, si, si, Signore," answered Benedetta, laughing, and this with her
meaning eyes so keenly riveted on the person of her new guest, as to
make it very questionable whether she were amused by anything but his
appearance; "your eccellenza shall be served; but whether at a paul or a
half-paul the flask, depends on your own pleasure. We keep wine at both
prices, and," glancing toward the table of Andrea Barrofaldi, "usually
serve the first to signori of rank and distinction."

"What does the woman say?" growled Ithuel to his interpreter, a Genoese,
who, from having served several years in the British navy, spoke English
with a very tolerable facility; "you know what we want, and just tell
her to hand it over, and I will fork out her St. Paul without more
words. What a desperate liking your folks have for saints,
Philip-o"--for so Ithuel pronounced Filippo, the name of his
companion--"what a desperate liking your folks have for saints,
Philip-o, that they must even call their money after them."

"It not so in America, Signor Bolto?" asked the Genoese, after he had
explained his wishes to Benedetta, in Italian; "It no ze fashion in your
country to honor ze saints?"

"Honor the saints!" repeated Ithuel, looking curiously round him, as he
took a seat at a third table, shoving aside the glasses at the same
time, and otherwise disposing of everything within reach of his hand, so
as to suit his own notions of order, and then leaning back on his chair
until the two ends of the uprights dug into the plaster behind him,
while the legs on which the fabric was poised cracked with his weight;
"honor the saints! we should be much more like to dishonor them! What
does any one want to honor a saint for? A saint is but a human--a man
like you and me, after all the fuss you make about 'em. Saints abound in
my