His right hand played mechanically with the short string of thick amber beads which he used for counting.

The June sun blazed down upon his swarthy face.
At the grating beside the door the porter's head appeared, partially visible behind the bars.
"Is Messer Angelo Beroviero within ?" inquired the boatman civilly.
"What is your business ?" asked the porter in a tone of surly contempt, instead of answering the question.
"There is a rich foreign gentleman here, who desires to speak with him," answered the boatman.
"Is he the Pope ?" asked the porter, with fine irony.
"No, sir," said the other, intimidated by the fellow's manner.

"He is a rich--" "Tell him to wait, then." And the surly head disappeared.
The boatman supposed that the man was gone to speak with his master, and waited patiently by the door.

Aristarchi chewed his pistachio nut till there was nothing left, at which time he reached the end of his patience.

He argued that it was a good sign if Angelo Beroviero kept rich strangers waiting at his gate, for it showed that he had no need of their custom.