“Better ask the Three Hundred to open the leaves of their book of doom!  Give me the key of the outer door, girl, that I may go my way.”

“Not till I know whether this business is likely to draw down upon my father the displeasure of the Senate.  Thou knowest, Gino, that I am——­”

“Diamine!  There goes the clock of San Marco, and I tarry past my hour.  If I am too late, the fault will rest with thee.”

“’Twill not be the first of thy oversights which it has been my business to excuse.  Here thou art, and here shalt thou remain, until I know the errand which calls for a mask and jacket, and all about this matter of gravity.”

“This is talking like a jealous wife instead of a reasonable girl, Annina.  I have told thee that I am on business of the last importance, and that delay may bring heavy calamities.”

“On whom?  What is thy business?  Why art thou, whom in general it is necessary to warn from this house by words many times repeated, now in such a haste to leave it?”

“Have I not told thee, girl, ’tis an errand of great concern to six noble families, and if I fail to be in season there may be a strife—­aye, between the Florentine and the Republic!”

“Thou hast said nothing of the sort, nor do I put faith in thy being an ambassador of San Marco.  Speak truth for once, Gino Monaldi, or lay aside the mask and jacket, and take up thy flowers of Sant’ Agata.”

“Well, then, as we are friends, and I have faith in thy discretion, Annina, thou shalt know the truth to the extremity, for I find the bell has only tolled the quarters, which leaves me yet a moment for confidence.”

“Thou lookest at the wall, Gino, and art consulting thy wits for some plausible lie!”

“I look at the wall because conscience tells me that too much weakness for thee is about to draw me astray from duty.  What thou takest for deceit is only shame and modesty.”

“Of that we shall judge, when the tale is told.”

“Then listen.  Thou hast heard of the affair between my master and the niece of the Roman Marchese, who was drowned in the Giudecca by the carelessness of an Ancona-man, who passed over the gondola of Pietro as if his felucca had been a galley of state?”

“Who has been upon the Lido the month past without hearing the tale repeated, with every variation of a gondolier’s anger?”

“Well, the matter is likely to come to a conclusion this night; my master is about to do, as I fear, a very foolish thing.”

“He will be married!”

“Or worse!  I am sent in all haste and secresy in search of a priest.”

Annina manifested strong interest in the fiction of the gondolier.  Either from a distrustful temperament, long habit, or great familiarity with the character of her companion, however, she did not listen to his explanation without betraying some doubts of its truth.

“This will be a sudden bridal feast!” she said, after a moment of pause.  “’Tis well that few are invited, or its savor might be spoiled by the Three Hundred!  To what convent art thou sent?”