and when Gelsomina was ready to enter the Piazzetta, she found both the squares partly filled.  A few excited fishermen clustered about the doors of the cathedral, like bees swarming before their hive; but, on that side, there was no very visible cause of alarm.  Unaccustomed as she was to scenes like that before her, the first glance assured the gentle girl of the real privacy which so singularly distinguishes the solitude of a crowd.  Gathering her simple mantle more closely about her form, and settling her mask with care, she moved with a swift step into the centre of the piazza.

We shall not detail the progress of our heroine, as, avoiding the commonplace gallantry that assailed and offended her ear, she went her way on her errand of kindness.  Young, active, and impelled by her intentions, the square was soon passed, and she reached the place of San Nico.  Here was one of the landings of the public gondolas.  But at the moment there was no boat in waiting, for curiosity or fear had induced the men to quit their usual stand.  Gelsomina had ascended the bridge, and was on the crown of its arch, when a gondolier came sweeping lazily in from the direction of the Grand Canal.  Her hesitation and doubting manner attracted his attention, and the man made the customary sign which conveyed the offer of his services.  As she was nearly a stranger in the streets of Venice, labyrinths that offer greater embarrassment to the uninitiated than perhaps the passages of any other town of its size, she gladly availed herself of the offer.  To descend to the steps, to leap into the boat, to utter the word “Rialto,” and to conceal herself in the pavilion, was the business of a minute.  The boat was instantly in motion.

Gelsomina now believed herself secure of effecting her purpose, since there was little to apprehend from the knowledge or the designs of a common boatman.  He could not know her object, and it was his interest to carry her in safety to the place she had commanded.  But so important was success, that she could not feel secure of attaining it while it was still unaccomplished.  She soon summoned sufficient resolution to look out at the palaces and boats they were passing, and she felt the refreshing air of the canal revive her courage.  Then turning with a sensitive distrust to examine the countenance of the gondolier, she saw that his features were concealed beneath a mask that was so well designed, as not to be perceptible to a casual observer by moonlight.

Though it was common on occasions for the servants of the great, it was not usual for the public gondoliers to be disguised.  The circumstance itself was one justly to excite slight apprehension, though, on second thoughts, Gelsomina saw no more in it than a return from some expedition of pleasure, or some serenade perhaps, in which the caution of a lover had compelled his followers to resort to this species of concealment.

“Shall I put you on the public quay, Signora,” demanded the gondolier,” or shall I see you to the gate of your own palace?”