At this moment, a dark mass of human bodies appeared advancing along the quay in the opposite direction.  Arms glittered in the moon-beams, and the measured tread of trained men became audible.  The Dalmatians were moving down from the arsenal in a body.  Advance and retreat now seemed equally impossible to the breathless fugitives.  As decision and self-possession are very different qualities, Donna Violetta did not understand so readily as the circumstances required, that it was more than probable the hirelings of the Republic would consider the flight perfectly natural, as it had appeared to the curious gazers of the port.

Terror made them blind, and as shelter was now the sole object of the fugitives, they would probably have sought it in the chamber of doom itself, had there been an opportunity.  As it was, they turned and entered the first, and indeed the only gate which offered.  They were met by a girl, whose anxious face betrayed that singular compound of self-devotion and terror, which probably has its rise in the instinct of feminine sympathies.

“Here is safety, noble ladies,” said the youthful Venetian, in the soft accent of her native islands; “none will dare do you harm within these walls.”

“Into whose palace have I entered?” demanded the half-breathless Violetta.  “If its owner has a name in Venice, he will not refuse hospitality to a daughter of Tiepolo.”

“Signora, you are welcome,” returned the gentle girl, curtsying low, and still leading the way deeper within the vast edifice.  “You bear the name of an illustrious house!”

“There are few in the Republic of note, from whom I may not claim, either the kindness of ancient and near services, or that of kindred.  Dost thou serve a noble master?”

“The first in Venice, lady.”

“Name him, that we may demand his hospitality as befits us.”

“Saint Mark.”

Donna Violetta and her governess stopped short.

“Have we unconsciously entered a portal of the palace?”

“That were impossible, lady, since the canal lies between you and the residence of the Doge.  Still is St. Mark master here.  I hope you will not esteem your safety less, because it has been obtained in the public prison, and by the aid of its keeper’s daughter.”

The moment for headlong decision was passed, and that of reflection had returned.

“How art thou called, child?” asked Donna Florinda, moving ahead of her pupil and taking the discourse up, where in wonder the other had permitted it to pause.  “We are truly grateful for the readiness with which thou threw open the gate for our admission, in a moment of such alarm—­How art thou called?”

“Gelsomina,” answered the modest girl.  “I am the keeper’s only child—­and when I saw ladies of your honorable condition fleeing on the quay, with the Dalmatians marching on one side, and a mob shouting on the other, I bethought me that even a prison might be welcome.”