“And this he commands you to tell all of my sex who come!”

“Diavolo!  Lady, you are particular in your questions.  Perhaps my master might, on a strait, receive one of the sex I could name, but on the honor of a gondolier he is not the most gallant cavalier of Venice, just at this moment.”

“If there is one to whom he would pay this deference, you are bold for a servitor.  How know you I am not that one?”

Gino started.  He examined the figure of the applicant, and lifting his cap, he bowed.

“Lady, I do not know anything about it,” he said; “you may be his Highness the Doge, or the ambassador of the emperor.  I pretend to know nothing in Venice of late——­”

The words of Gino were cut short by a tap on the shoulder from the public gondolier, who had hastily entered the vestibule.  The man whispered in the ear of Don Camillo’s servitor.

“This is not a moment to refuse any,” he said.  “Let the stranger go up.”

Gino hesitated no longer.  With the decision of a favored menial he pushed the groom of the chambers aside, and offered to conduct Gelsomina himself to the presence of his master.  As they ascended the stairs, three of the inferior servants disappeared.

The palace of Don Camillo had an air of more than Venetian gloom.  The rooms were dimly lighted, many of the walls had been stripped of the most precious of their pictures, and in other respects a jealous eye might have detected evidence of a secret intention, on the part of its owner, not to make a permanent residence of the dwelling.  But these were particulars that Gelsomina did not note, as she followed Gino through the apartments, into the more private parts of the building.  Here the gondolier unlocked a door, and regarding his companion with an air, half-doubting, half-respectful, he made a sign for her to enter.

“My master commonly receives the ladies here,” he said.  “Enter, eccellenza, while I run to tell him of his happiness.”

Gelsomina did not hesitate, though she felt a violent throb at the heart when she heard the key turning in the lock behind her.  She was in an ante-chamber, and inferring from the light which shone through the door of an adjoining room that she was to proceed, she went on.  No sooner had she entered the little closet than she found herself alone, with one of her own sex.

“Annina!” burst from the lips of the unpractised prison-girl, under the impulse of surprise.

“Gelsomina!  The simple, quiet, whispering, modest Gelsomina!” returned the other.

The words of Annina admitted but of one construction.  Wounded, like the bruised sensitive plant, Gelsomina withdrew her mask for air, actually gasping for breath, between offended pride and wonder.

“Thou here!” she added, scarce knowing-what she uttered.

“Thou here!” repeated Annina, with such a laugh as escapes the degraded when they believe the innocent reduced to their own level.