“Thou art called Antonio of the Lagunes?” demanded one of the secretaries near the table, when a sign had been secretly made from the crimson member of that fearful tribunal to proceed.

“A poor fisherman, eccellenza, who owes much to blessed Saint Antonio of the Miraculous Draught.”

“And thou hast a son who bears thine own name, and who follows the same pursuit?”

“It is the duty of a Christian to submit to the will of God!  My boy has been dead twelve years, come the day when the Republic’s galleys chased the infidel from Corfu to Candia.  He was slain, noble Signore, with many others of his calling, in that bloody fight.”

There was a movement of surprise among the clerks, who whispered together, and appeared to examine the papers in their hands with some haste and confusion.  Glances were sent back at the judges, who sate motionless, wrapped in the impenetrable mystery of their functions.  A secret sign, however, soon caused the armed attendants of the place to lead Antonio and his companion from the room.

“Here is some inadvertency!” said a stern voice, from one of the masked Three, so soon as the fall of the footsteps of those who retired was no longer audible.  “It is not seemly that the inquisition of St. Mark should show this ignorance.”

“It touches merely the family of an obscure fisherman, illustrious Signore,” returned the trembling dependant; “and it may be that his art would wish to deceive us in the opening interrogatories.”

“Thou art in error,” interrupted another of the Three.  “The man is named Antonio Vecchio, and, as he sayeth, his only child died in the hot affair with the Ottoman.  He of whom there is question is a grandson, and still a boy.”

“The noble Signore is right!” returned the clerk—­“In the hurry of affairs, we have misconceived a fact, which the wisdom of the council has been quick to rectify.  St. Mark is happy in having among his proudest and oldest names, senators who enter thus familiarly into the interests of his meanest children!”

“Let the man be again introduced,” resumed the judge, slightly bending his head to the compliment.  “These accidents are unavoidable in the press of affairs.”

The necessary order was given, and Antonio, with his companion constantly at his elbow, was brought once more into the presence.

“Thy son died in the service of the Republic, Antonio?” demanded the secretary.

“Signore, he did.  Holy Maria have pity on his early fate, and listen to my prayers!  So good a child and so brave a man can have no great need of masses for his soul, or his death would have been doubly grievous to me, since I am too poor to buy them.”

“Thou hast a grandson?”

“I had one, noble senator; I hope he still lives.”

“He is not with thee in thy labors on the Lagunes?”