At the end of the room, not far from the fireplace, were collected the
foreigners who were engaged in commerce at Antwerp. Although they had
assembled for amusement, they were conversing, through habit, upon the
expected arrival of vessels, and the price of gold and different kinds of
merchandise. Among these foreigners was to be seen every description of
costume, and every variety of tongue could be heard. The Spaniard found
himself beside a native of Lucca, the Portuguese near the Florentine, the
English with the Genoese, the German next to the Venetian; and, as on
Change at Antwerp, they found means to understand each other.
Mr. Van de Werve had at first remained near the door in order to welcome
his guests as they entered; but supposing that the greater part of those
invited had arrived, he left this place and was walking from group to
group, joining in conversation for a few moments, and saying some pleasant
words to each.
The old Deodati had seated himself in an arm-chair apart. So many had
welcomed him on his arrival at Antwerp, and he had been the object of so
much polite attention, that, being fatigued from standing and talking, he
was now seeking some repose.
By his side was Simon Turchi, conversing familiarly and in a low tone with
the old man. The hypocrite feigned an extraordinary affection for the
venerable nobleman, and flattered him by every expression of respect and
esteem. They had already spoken of the attempted assassination, and Simon
Turchi had expressed his astonishment, for he did not believe that
Geronimo had an enemy in the world. It was quite likely that Bufferio had
made a mistake as to the individual, a thing which might easily have
happened in so dark a night.
While Simon Turchi, with apparent calmness, thus conversed with the old
gentleman, he was evidently meditating some wicked design; for while
talking, his eyes incessantly wandered to Geronimo, and he endeavored to
divine from his countenance the subject of his conversation. He did not
for one instant lose sight of Mary's betrothed.
After speaking of the assassination, the old Deodati glanced around the
room upon the different groups of guests, and he asked Turchi: "Who is the gentleman in purple velvet, who is the object of such marked
respect from the merchants around him? I do not mean the tall old man, I
am acquainted with him, he is the rich Fugger of Augsburg; I am speaking
of the one who stands beside him."
"He is a banker, signor," replied Simon Turchi. "He is very rich, and his
name is Lazarus Tucher. The gentleman before him is the head of the house
of the Hochstetter. The gentlemen conversing with him belong to the
distinguished commercial houses of the Gigli, the Spignoli, and the
Gualterotti. A little apart, and behind them, is Don Pezoa, the
superintendent of the king of Portugal; he is speaking with Diégo d'Aro,
and Antonio de Vaglio, superintendents from Spain. The gentlemen near them
are Italian and Portuguese merchants, whose names I could tell you, for I
know them all, but such details would not interest you."