The Signor Soranzo clung to the enjoyments of his own family circle until the last moment.  The Donna Giulietta had returned, fresher and more lovely than ever, from the invigorating sea-breeze, and her soft voice, with the melodious laugh of his first-born, the blooming, ringlet-covered girl described, still rang in his ears, when his gondolier landed him beneath the bridge of the Rialto.  Here he masked, and drawing his cloak about him, he moved with the current towards the square of St. Mark, by means of the narrow streets.  Once in the crowd there was little danger of impertinent observation.  Disguise was as often useful to the oligarchy of Venice as it was absolutely necessary to elude its despotism, and to render the town tolerable to the citizen.  Paolo saw swarthy, bare-legged men of the Lagunes, entering occasionally into the cathedral.  He followed, and found himself standing near the dimly lighted altar at which masses were still saying for the soul of Antonio.

“This is one of thy fellows?” he asked of a fisherman, whose dark eye glittered in that light, like the organ of a basilisk.

“Signore, he was—­a more honest or a more just man did not cast his net in the gulf.”

“He has fallen a victim to his craft?”

“Cospetto di Bacco! none know in what manner he came by his end.  Some say St. Mark was impatient to see him in paradise, and some pretend he has fallen by the hand of a common Bravo, named Jacopo Frontoni.”

“Why should a Bravo take the life of one like this?”

“By having the goodness to answer your own question, Signore, you will spare me some trouble.  Why should he, sure enough?  They say Jacopo is revengeful, and that shame and anger at his defeat in the late regatta, by one old as this, was the reason.”

“Is he so jealous of his honor with the oar?”

“Diamine!  I have seen the time when Jacopo would sooner die than lose a race; but that was before he carried a stiletto.  Had he kept to his oar the thing might have happened, but once known for the hired blow, it seems unreasonable he should set his heart so strongly on the prizes of the canals.”

“May not the man have fallen into the Lagunes by accident?”

“No doubt, Signore.  This happens to some of us daily; but then we think it wiser to swim to the boat than to sink.  Old Antonio had an arm in youth to carry him from the quay to the Lido.”

“But he may have been struck in falling, and rendered unable to do himself this good office.”

“There would be marks to show this, were it true, Signore!”

“Would not Jacopo have used the stiletto?”

“Perhaps not on one like Antonio.  The gondola of the old man was found in the mouth of the Grand Canal, half a league from the body and against the wind!  We note these things, Signore, for they are within our knowledge.”

“A happy night to thee, fisherman.”

“A most happy night, eccellenza,” said the laborer of the Lagunes, gratified with having so long occupied the attention of one he rightly believed so much his superior.  The disguised senator passed on.  He had no difficulty in quitting the cathedral unobserved, and he had his private means of entering the palace, without attracting any impertinent eye to his movements.  Here he quickly joined his colleagues of the fearful tribunal.