Priest succeeded priest, in repeating the masses, while the attentive throng listened, as if each of its members felt that his own honor and importance were elevated by this concession to one of their number.  In the square the maskers gradually reappeared, though the alarm had been too sudden and violent, to admit a speedy return to the levity which ordinarily was witnessed in that spot, between the setting and the rising of the sun.

CHAPTER XXIII.

  “’Tis of a lady in her earliest youth,
  The very last of that illustrious race.” 
                              Rogers.

When the fishermen landed on the quay, they deserted the gondola of the state to a man.  Donna Violetta and her governess heard the tumultuous departure of their singular captors with alarm, for they were nearly in entire ignorance of the motive which had deprived them of the protection of Father Anselmo, and which had so unexpectedly made them actors in the extraordinary scene.  The monk had simply explained that his offices were required in behalf of the dead, but the apprehension of exciting unnecessary terror prevented him from adding that they were in the power of a mob.  Donna Florinda, however, had ascertained sufficient, by looking from the windows of the canopy and from the cries of those around her, to get a glimmering of the truth.  Under the circumstances, she saw that the most prudent course was to keep themselves as much as possible from observation.  But when the profound stillness that succeeded the landing of the rioters announced that they were alone, both she and her charge had an intuitive perception of the favorable chance which fortune had so strangely thrown in their way.

“They are gone!” whispered Donna Florinda, holding her breath in attention, as soon as she had spoken.

“And the police will be soon here to seek us!”

No further explanation passed, for Venice was a town in which even the young and innocent were taught caution.  Donna Florinda stole another look without.

“They have disappeared, Heaven knows where!  Let us go!”

In an instant the trembling fugitives were on the quay.  The Piazzetta was without a human form, except their own.  A low, murmuring sound arose from the court palace, which resembled the hum of a disturbed hive; but nothing was distinct or intelligible.

“There is violence meditated,” again whispered the governess; “would to God that Father Anselmo were here!”

A shuffling footstep caught their ears, and both turned towards a boy, in the dress of one of the Lagunes, who approached from the direction of the Broglio.

“A reverend Carmelite bid me give you this,” said the youth, stealing a glance behind him, like one who dreaded detection.  Then putting a small piece of paper in the hand of Donna Florinda, he turned his own swarthy palm, in which a small silver coin glittered, to the moon, and vanished.