“Girl, didst thou know him for a bravo?”

“Oh!  Highness, no.  To me he seemed a dutiful child, fearing God and honoring his parent.  I hope never to feel another pang, like that which chilled my heart when they said, he I had known as the kind Carlo was hunted in Venice as the abhorred Jacopo!  But it is passed, the Mother of God be praised!”

“Thou art betrothed to this condemned man?”

The color did not deepen on the cheek of Gelsomina at this abrupt question, for the tie between her and Jacopo had become too sacred for the ordinary weaknesses of her sex.

“Highness, yes; we were to be married, should it have pleased God, and those great senators who have so much influence over the happiness of the poor, to permit it.”

“And thou art still willing, knowing the man, to pledge thy vows to one like Jacopo?”

“It is because I do know him to be as he is, that I most reverence him, great Doge.  He has sold his time and his good name to the state, in order to save his imprisoned father, and in that I see nothing to frighten one he loves.”

“This affair needs explanation, Carmelite.  The girl has a heated fancy, and she renders that obscure she should explain.”

“Illustrious prince, she would say that the Republic was content to grant the son the indulgence of visiting the captive, with some encouragement of his release, on condition that the youth might serve the police by bearing a bravo’s reputation.”

“And for this incredible tale, father, you have the word of a condemned, criminal!”

“With the near view of death before his eyes.  There are means of rendering truth evident, familiar to those who are often near the dying penitents, that are unknown to those of the world.  In any case, Signore, the matter is worthy of investigation.”

“In that thou art right.  Is the hour named for the execution?”

“With the morning light, prince.”

“And the father?”

“Is dead.”

“A prisoner, Carmelite!”

“A prisoner, Prince of Venice.”

There was a pause.

“Hast thou heard of the death of one named Antonio?”

“Signore, yes.  By the sacred nature of my holy office, do I affirm that of this crime is Jacopo innocent!  I shrived the fisherman.”

The Doge turned away, for the truth began to dawn upon him, and the flush which glowed on his aged cheek contained a confession that might not be observed by every eye.  He sought the glance of his companion, but his own expression of human feeling was met by the disciplined features of the other, as light is coldly repelled from polished stone.

“Highness!” added a tremulous voice.

“What would’st thou, child?”

“There is a God for the Republic, as well as for the gondolier!  Your Highness will turn this great crime from Venice?”

“Thou art of plain speech, girl!”