Book The Second - Chapter 2 The Florentine Stranger

Two evenings had elapsed since the Doge's entertainment. On the
second, Parozzi sat in his own apartment, with Memmo and Falieri.
Dimly burnt the lights; lowering and tempestuous were the skies
without; gloomy and fearful were the souls of the libertines within.

Parozzi (after a long silence).--What, are you both dreaming? Ho,
there, Memmo, Falieri, fill your goblets.

Memmo (with indifference).--Well, to please you--. But I care not
for wine to-night.

Falieri.--Nor I. Methinks it tastes like vinegar: yet the wine
itself is good: 'tis our ill temper spoils it.

Parozzi.--Confound the rascals.

Memmo.--What, the banditti?

Parozzi.--Not a trace of them can be found. It is enough to kill
one with vexation.

Falieri.--And in the meanwhile the time runs out, our projects will
get wind, and then we shall sit quietly in the State prisons of
Venice, objects of derision to the populace and ourselves. I could
tear my flesh for anger. (A universal silence.) Parozzi (striking his hand against the table passionately).--
Flodoardo, Flodoardo.

Falieri.--In a couple of hours I must attend the Cardinal Gonzaga,
and what intelligence shall I have to give him?

Memmo.--Come, come, Contarino cannot have been absent so long
without cause; I warrant you he will bring some news with him when
he arrives.

Falieri.--Pshaw, pshaw! My life on't he lies at this moment at
Olympia's feet, and forgets us, the Republic, the banditti, and
himself.