“Wilt thou consult thine own safety, Jacopo, and reveal all thou knowest of this affair of the Neapolitan?” continued the inquisitor, when this by-play was ended.

Jacopo betrayed no weakness at the menace implied by the words of the senator; but, after a moment’s reflection, he answered writh as much frankness as he could have used at the confessional.

“It is known to you, illustrious senator,” he said, “that the state had a desire to match the heiress of Tiepolo, to its own advantage; that she was beloved of the Neapolitan noble; and that, as is wont between young and virtuous hearts, she returned his love as became a maiden of her high condition and tender years.  Is there anything extraordinary in the circumstance that two of so illustrious hopes should struggle to prevent their own misery?  Signori, the night that old Antonio died, I was alone, among the graves of the Lido, with many melancholy and bitter thoughts, and life had become a burden to me.  Had the evil spirit which was then uppermost, maintained its mastery, I might have died the death of a hopeless suicide.  God sent Don Camillo Monforte to my succor.  Praised be the immaculate Maria, and her blessed Son, for the mercy!  It was there I learned the wishes of the Neapolitan, and enlisted myself in his service.  I swore to him, senators of Venice, to be true—­to die in his cause, should it be necessary, and to help him to his bride.  This pledge have I redeemed.  The happy lovers are now in the States of the Church, and under the puissant protection of the cardinal secretary, Don Camillo’s mother’s brother.”

“Fool! why did’st thou this?  Had’st thou no thought for thyself?”

“Eccellenza, but little.  I thought more of finding a human bosom to pour out my sufferings to, than of your high displeasure.  I have not known so sweet a moment in years, as that in which I saw the lord of Sant’ Agata fold his beautiful and weeping bride to his heart!”

The inquisitors were struck with the quiet enthusiasm of the Bravo, and surprise once more held them in suspense.  At length the elder of the three resumed the examination.

“Wilt thou impart the manner of this escape, Jacopo?” he demanded.  “Remember, thou hast still a life to redeem!”

“Signore, it is scarce worth the trouble.  But to do your pleasure, nothing shall be concealed.”

Jacopo then recounted in simple and undisguised terms, the entire means employed by Don Camillo in effecting his escape—­his hopes, his disappointments, and his final success.  In this narrative nothing was concealed but the place in which the ladies had temporarily taken refuge, and the name of Gelsomina.  Even the attempt of Giacomo Gradenigo on the life of the Neapolitan, and the agency of the Hebrew, were fully exposed.  None listened to this explanation so intently as the young husband.  Notwithstanding his public duties, his pulses quickened as the prisoner dwelt on the different chances of the lovers, and when