“Not a sequin.  My errand is of nobler quality.”

“Speak without riddle, that I may know its object.”

Now that nothing stood between her wish to speak, and her own manner of making known the request, Donna Violetta appeared to shrink from expressing it.  Her color went and came, and she sought support from the eye of her attentive and wondering companion.  As the latter was ignorant of her intention, however, she could do no more than encourage the supplicant by such an expression of sympathy as woman rarely refuses to her sex, in any trial that involves their peculiar and distinctive feelings.  Violetta struggled with her diffidence, and then laughing at her own want of self-possession, she continued—­

“You know, Signor Gradenigo,” she said, with a loftiness that was not less puzzling, though far more intelligible than the agitation which a moment before had embarrassed her manner, “that I am the last of a line eminent for centuries in the state of Venice.”

“So sayeth our history.”

“That I bear a name long known, and which it becomes me to shield from all imputation of discredit in my own person.”

“This is so true, that it scarce needed so clear an exposure,” drily returned the senator.

“And that, though thus gifted by the accidents of fortune and birth, I have received a boon that remains still unrequited, in a manner to do no honor to the house of Thiepolo.”

“This becometh serious!  Donna Florinda, our ward is more earnest than intelligible, and I must ask an explanation at your hands.  It becometh her not to receive boons of this nature from any.”

“Though unprepared for this request,” mildly replied the companion, “I think she speaks of the boon of life.”

The Signor Gradenigo’s countenance assumed a dark expression.

“I understand you,” he said, coldly.  “It is true that the Neapolitan was ready to rescue thee, when the calamity befell thy uncle of Florence, but Don Camillo Monforte is not a common diver of the Lido, to be rewarded like him who finds a bauble dropped from a gondola.  Thou hast thanked the cavalier; I trust that a noble maiden can do no more in a case like this.”

“That I have thanked him, and thanked him from my soul, is true!” fervently exclaimed Violetta.  “When I forget the service, Maria Santissima and the good saints forget me!”

“I doubt, Signora Florinda, that your charge hath spent more hours among the light works of her late father’s library, and less time with her missal, than becomes her birth?”

The eye of Violetta kindled, and she folded an arm around the form of her shrinking companion, who drew down her veil at this reproof, though she forbore to answer.

“Signor Gradenigo,” said the young heiress, “I may have done discredit to my instructors, but if the pupil has been idle the fault should not be visited on the innocent.  It is some evidence that the commands of holy church have not been neglected, that I now come to entreat favor in behalf of one to whom I owe my life.  Don Camillo Monforte has long pursued, without success, a claim so just, that were there no other motive to concede it, the character of Venice should teach the senators the danger of delay.”