“And thou owest thy success in the regatta, Antonio, to the favor of thy competitor—­he who is now with thee in the presence of the council?”

“Under San Teodoro and St. Antonio, the city’s patron and my own.”

“And thy whole desire was to urge again thy rejected petition in behalf of the young sailor?”

“Signore, I had no other.  What is the vanity of a triumph among the gondoliers, or the bauble of a mimic oar and chain, to one of my years and condition?”

“Thou forgettest that the oar and chain are gold?”

“Excellent gentlemen, gold cannot heal the wounds which misery has left on a heavy heart.  Give me back the child, that my eyes may not be closed by strangers, and that I may speak good counsel into his young ears, while there is hope my words may be remembered, and I care not for all the metals of the Rialto!  Thou mayest see that I utter no vain vaunt, by this jewel, which I offer to the nobles with the reverence due to their greatness and wisdom.”

When the fisherman had done speaking, he advanced with the timid step of a man unaccustomed to move in superior presences, and laid upon the dark cloth of the table a ring that sparkled with what at least seemed to be very precious stones.  The astonished secretary raised the jewel, and held it in suspense before the eyes of the judges.

“How is this?” exclaimed he of the Three, who had oftenest interfered in the examination; “that seemeth the pledge of our nuptials!”

“It is no other, illustrious senator:  with this ring did the Doge wed the Adriatic, in the presence of the ambassadors and the people.”

“Hadst thou aught to do with this, also, Jacopo?” sternly demanded the judge.

The Bravo turned his eye on the jewel with a look of interest, but his voice maintained its usual depth and steadiness as he answered—­

“Signore, no—­until now, I knew not the fortune of the fisherman.”

A sign to the secretary caused him to resume his questions.

“Thou must account and clearly account, Antonio,” he said, “for the manner in which the sacred ring came into thy possession; hadst thou any one to aid thee in obtaining it?”

“Signore, I had.”

“Name him at once, that we take measures for his security.”

“’Twill be useless, Signore; he is far above the power of Venice.”

“What meanest thou, fellow?  None are superior to the right and the force of the Republic that dwell within her limits.  Answer without evasion, as thou valuest thy person.”

“I should prize that which is of little value, Signore, and be guilty of a great folly as well as of a great sin, were I to deceive you to save a body old and worthless as mine from stripes.  If your excellencies are willing to hear, you will find that I am no less willing to tell the manner in which I got the ring.”

“Speak, then, and trifle not.”