“The name is common.”

“There is but one who bears it now in Venice.  All mean the same when they say Jacopo.”

“I have heard of a monster of that name.  Surely he hath not dared to show himself among the nobles, on such a festa!”

“Gessina, we live in an unaccountable country!  The man walks the piazza with a step as lordly as the Doge, at his pleasure, and yet none say aught to him!  I have seen him, at noonday, leaning against the triumphal mast, or the column of San Theodoro, with as proud an air as if he were put there to celebrate a victory of the Republic!”

“Perhaps he is master of some terrible secret, which they fear he will reveal?”

“Thou knowest little of Venice, child!  Holy Maria! a secret of that kind is a death-warrant of itself.  It is as dangerous to know too much as it is to know too little, when one deals with St. Mark.  But they say Jacopo was there, standing eye to eye with the Doge, and scaring the Senators as if he had been an uncalled spectre from the vaults of their fathers.  Nor is this all; as I crossed the Lagunes this morning, I saw the body of a young cavalier drawn from the water, and those who were near it said it had the mark of his fatal hand!”

The timid Gelsomina shuddered.

“They who rule,” she said, “will have to answer for this negligence to God, if they let the wretch longer go at large.”

“Blessed St. Mark protect his children!  They say there is much of this sort of sin to answer for—­but see the body I did, with my own eyes, in entering the canals this morning.”

“And didst thou sleep on the Lido, that thou wert abroad so early?”

“The Lido—­yes—­nay—­I slept not, but thou knowest my father had a busy day during the revels, and I am not like thee, Gessina, mistress of the household, to do as I would.  But I tarry here to chat with thee, when there is great need of industry at home.  Hast thou the package, child, which I trusted to thy keeping at my last visit?”

“It is here,” answered Gelsomina, opening a drawer, and handing to her cousin a small but closely enveloped package, which, unknown to herself, contained some articles of forbidden commerce, and which the other, in her indefatigable activity, had been obliged to secrete for a time.  “I had begun to think that thou hadst forgotten it, and was about to send it to thee.”

“Gelsomina, if thou lovest me, never do so rash an act!  My brother Giuseppe—­thou scarce knowest Giuseppe?”

“We have little acquaintance, for cousins.”

“Thou art fortunate in thy ignorance.  I cannot say what I might of the child of the same parents, but had Giuseppe seen this package by any accident, it might have brought thee into great trouble!”

“Nay, I fear not thy brother, nor any else,” said the daughter of the prison-keeper, with the firmness of innocence; “he could do me no harm for dealing kindly by a relative.”