her sex, reclined on a couch nigh by, following the movements of both, with the joint feelings of mother and wife, and laughing in pure sympathy with the noisy merriment of her young hope.  A girl, who was the youthful image of herself, with tresses that fell to her waist, romped with a crowing infant, whose age was so tender as scarcely to admit the uncertain evidence of its intelligence.  Such was the scene as the clock of the piazza told the hour.  Struck with the sound, the father set down the boy and consulted his watch.

“Dost thou use thy gondola to-night, love?” he demanded.

“With thee, Paolo?”

“Not with me, dearest; I have affairs which will employ me until twelve.”

“Nay, thou art given to cast me off, when thy caprices are wayward.”

“Say not so.  I have named to-night for an interview with my agent, and I know thy maternal heart too well, to doubt thy being willing to spare me for that time, while I look to the interests of these dear ones.”

The Donna Giulietta rang for her mantle and attendants.  The crowing infant and the noisy boy were dismissed to their beds, while the lady and the eldest child descended to the gondola.  Donna Giulietta was not permitted to go unattended to her boat, for this was a family in which the inclinations had fortunately seconded the ordinary calculations of interest when the nuptial knot was tied.  Her husband kissed her hand fondly, as he assisted her into the gondola, and the boat had glided some distance from the palace ere he quitted the moist stones of the water-gate.

“Hast thou prepared the cabinet for my friends?” demanded the Signor Soranzo, for it was the same Senator who had been in company with the Doge when the latter went to meet the fishermen.

“Signore, si.”

“And the quiet, and the lights—­as ordered?”

“Eccellenza, all will be done.”

“Thou hast placed seats for six—­we shall be six.”

“Signore, there are six arm-chairs.”

“’Tis well:  when the first of my friends arrive, I will join them.”

“Eccellenza, there are already two cavaliers in masks within.”

The Signor Soranzo started, again consulted his watch, and went hastily towards a distant and very silent part of the palace.  He reached a small door unattended, and closing it, found himself at once in the presence of those who evidently awaited his appearance.

“A thousand pardons, Signori,” cried the master of the house; “this is novel duty to me, at least—­I know not what may be your honorable experience—­and the time stole upon me unmarked.  I pray for grace, Messires; future diligence shall repair the present neglect.”

Both the visitors were older men than their host, and it was quite evident by their hardened visages they were of much longer practice in the world.  His excuses were received with courtesy, and, for a little time, the discourse was entirely of usage and convention.