The heart of Gelsomina beat high.  She liked the tone of the voice, though it was necessarily smothered by the mask, but she was so little accustomed to act in the affairs of others, and less still in any of so great interest, that the sounds caused her to tremble like one less worthily employed.

“Dost thou know the palace of a certain Don Camillo Monforte, a lord of Calabria, who dwells here in Venice?” she asked, after a moment’s pause.  The gondolier sensibly betrayed surprise, by the manner in which he started at the question.

“Would you be rowed there, lady?”

“If thou art certain of knowing the palazzo.”

The water stirred, and the gondola glided between high walls.  Gelsomina knew by the sound that they were in one of the smaller canals, and she augured well of the boatman’s knowledge of the town.  They soon stopped by the side of a water-gate, and the man appeared on the step, holding an arm to aid her in ascending, after the manner of people of his craft.  Gelsomina bade him wait her return, and proceeded.

There was a marked derangement in the household of Don Camillo, that one more practised than our heroine would have noted.  The servants seemed undecided in the manner of performing the most ordinary duties; their looks wandered distrustfully from one to another, and when their half-frightened visitor entered the vestibule, though all arose, none advanced to meet her.  A female masked was not a rare sight in Venice, for few of that sex went upon the canals without using the customary means of concealment; but it would seem by their hesitating manner that the menials of Don Camillo did not view the entrance of her who now appeared with the usual indifference.

“I am in the dwelling of the Duke of St. Agata, a Signore of Calabria?” demanded Gelsomina, who saw the necessity of being firm.

“Signora, si——­”

“Is your lord in the palace?”

“Signora, he is—­and he is not.  What beautiful lady shall I tell him does him this honor?”

“If he be not at home it will not be necessary to tell him anything.  If he is, I could wish to see him.”

The domestics, of whom there were several, put their heads together, and seemed to dispute on the propriety of receiving the visit.  At this instant a gondolier in a flowered jacket entered the vestibule.  Gelsomina took courage at his good-natured eye and frank manner.

“Do you serve Don Camillo Monforte?” she asked, as he passed her, on his way to the canal.

“With the oar, Bellissima Donna,” answered Gino, touching his cap, though scarce looking aside at the question.

“And could he be told that a female wishes earnestly to speak to him in private?—­A female.”

“Santa Maria!  Bella Donna, there is no end to females who come on these errands in Venice.  You might better pay a visit to the statue of San Teodore, in the piazza, than see my master at this moment; the stone will give you the better reception.”