It has already been shown that the reigning Doge, if such a title can be used of a prince who was merely a tool of the aristocracy, was a man advanced in years.  He had thrown aside the cares of the day, and, in the retirement of his privacy, was endeavoring to indulge those human sympathies that had so little play in the ordinary duties of his factitious condition, by holding intercourse with the mind of one of the classics of his country.  His state was laid aside for lighter ease and personal freedom.  The monk could not have chosen a happier moment for his object, since the man was undefended by the usual appliances of his rank, and he was softened by communion with one who had known how to mould and temper the feelings of his readers at will.  So entire was the abstraction of the Doge, at the moment, that the usher entered unheeded, and had stood in respectful attention to his sovereign’s pleasure, near a minute before he was seen.

“What would’st thou, Marco?” demanded the prince, when his eye rose from the page.

“Signore,” returned the officer, using the familiar manner in which those nearest to the persons of princes are permitted to indulge—­“here are the reverend Carmelite, and the young girl, in waiting.”

“How sayest thou? a Carmelite, and a girl!”

“Signore, the same.  Those whom your Highness expects.”

“What bold pretence is this!”

“Signore, I do but repeat the words of the monk.  ‘Tell his Highness,’ said the father, ’that the Carmelite he wishes to see, and the young girl in whose happiness his princely bosom feels so parental an interest, await his pleasure.’”

There passed a glow, in which indignation was brighter than shame, over the wasted cheek of the old prince, and his eye kindled.

“And this to me—­even in my palace!”

“Pardon, Signore.  This is no shameless priest, like so many that disgrace the tonsure.  Both monk and girl have innocent and harmless looks, and I do suspect your Highness may have forgotten.”

The bright spots disappeared from the prince’s cheeks and his eye regained its paternal expression.  But age, and experience in his delicate duties, had taught the Doge of Venice caution.  He well knew that memory had not failed him, and he at once saw that a hidden meaning lay concealed beneath an application so unusual.  There might be a device of his enemies, who were numerous and active, or, in truth, there might be some justifiable motive to warrant the applicant in resorting to a measure so hardy.

“Did the Carmelite say more, good Marco?” he asked, after deep reflection.

“Signore, he said there was great urgency, as the hour was near when the innocent might suffer.  I doubt not that he comes with a petition in behalf of some young indiscreet, for there are said to be several young nobles arrested for their follies in the carnival.  The female may be a sister disguised.”