The eye of Gino brightened, and he was voluble in his expression of thanks.  They had ascended to the first floor, and were already deep in a suite of gloomy apartments, before the gratitude and professional pride of the gondolier were exhausted.

“Aided by a powerful arm and a fleet gondola, thy chance will be as good as another’s, Gino,” said Don Camillo, closing the door of his cabinet on his servant; “at present thou mayest give some proof of zeal in my service, in another manner.  Is the face of a man called Jacopo Frontoni known to thee?”

“Eccellenza!” exclaimed the gondolier, gasping for breath.

“I ask thee if thou knowest the countenance of one named Frontoni?”

“His countenance, Signore!”

“By what else would’st thou distinguish a man?”

“A man, Signor’ Don Camillo!”

“Art thou mocking thy master, Gino?  I have asked thee if thou art acquainted with the person of a certain Jacopo Frontoni, a dweller here in Venice?”

“Eccellenza, yes.”

“He I mean has been long remarked by the misfortunes of his family; the father being now in exile on the Dalmatian coast, or elsewhere.”

“Eccellenza, yes.”

“There are many of the name of Frontoni, and it is important that thou should’st not mistake the man.  Jacopo, of that family, is a youth of some five-and-twenty, of an active frame and melancholy visage, and of less vivacity of temperament than is wont, at his years.”

“Eccellenza, yes.”

“One who consorts but little with his fellows, and who is rather noted for the silence and industry with which he attends to his concerns, than for any of the usual pleasantries and trifling of men of his cast.  A certain Jacopo Frontoni, that hath his abode somewhere near the arsenal?”

“Cospetto!  Signor’ Duca, the man is as well known to us gondoliers as the bridge of the Rialto!  Your eccellenza has no need to trouble yourself to describe him.”

Don Camillo Monforte was searching among the papers of a secretaire.  He raised his eyes in some little amazement at the sally of his dependant, and then he quietly resumed his occupation.

“If thou knowest the man, it is enough.”

“Eccellenza, yes.  And what is your pleasure with this accursed Jacopo?”

The Duke of Sant’ Agata seemed to recollect himself.  He replaced the papers which had been deranged, and he closed the secretaire.

“Gino,” he said, in a tone of confidence and amity, “thou wert born on my estates, though so long trained here to the oar in Venice, and thou hast passed thy life in my service.”

“Eccellenza, yes.”

“It is my desire that thou should’st end thy days where they began.  I have had much confidence in thy discretion hitherto, and I have satisfaction in saying it has never failed thee, notwithstanding thou hast necessarily been a witness of some exploits of youth which might have drawn embarrassment on thy master were thy tongue less disposed to silence.”