“My ward has spent lier leisure with the doctors of Padua!  The Republic hath its laws, and none who have right on their side appeal to them in vain.  Thy gratitude is not to be censured; it is rather worthy of thy origin and hopes; still, Donna Violetta, we should remember how difficult it is to winnow the truth from the chaff of imposition and legal subtlety, and, most of all, should a judge be certain before he gives his decree, that, in confirming the claims of one applicant, he does not defeat those of another.”

“They tamper with his rights!  Being born in a foreign realm, he is required to renounce more in the land of the stranger than he will gain within the limits of the Republic!  He wastes life and youth in pursuing a phantom!  You are of weight in the senate, my guardian, and were you to lend him the support of your powerful voice and great instruction, a wronged noble would have justice, and Venice, though she might lose a trifle from her stores, would better deserve the character of which she is so jealous.”

“Thou art a persuasive advocate, and I will think of what thou urgest,” said the Signor Gradenigo, changing the frown which had been gathering about his brow, to a look of indulgence, with a facility that betrayed much practice in adapting the expression of his features to his policy.  “I ought only to hearken to the Neapolitan in my public character of a judge; but his service to thee, and my weakness in thy behalf, extorts that thou would’st have.”

Donna Violetta received the promise with a bright and guileless smile.  She kissed the hand he extended as the pledge of his faith, with a fervor that gave her attentive guardian serious uneasiness.

“Thou art too winning even to be resisted by one wearied with rebutting plausible pretensions,” he added.  “The young and the generous, Donna Florinda, believe all to be as their own wishes and simplicity would have them.  As for this right of Don Camillo—­but no matter—­thou wilt have it so, and it shall be examined with that blindness which is said to be the failing of justice.”

“I have understood the metaphor to mean blind to favor, but not insensible to the right.”

“I fear that is a sense which might defeat our hopes—­but we will look into it.  My son has been mindful of his duty and respect of late, Donna Violetta, as I would have him?  The boy wants little urging, I know, to do honor to my ward and the fairest of Venice.  Thou wilt receive him with friendship, for the love thou bearest his father?”

Donna Violetta curtsied, but it was with womanly reserve.

“The door of my palace is never shut on the Signor Giacomo on all proper occasions,” she said, coldly.  “Signore, the son of my guardian could hardly be other than an honored visitor.”

“I would have the boy attentive—­and even more, I would have him prove some little of that great esteem,—­but we live in a jealous city, Donna Florinda, and one in which prudence is a virtue of the highest price.  If the youth is less urgent than I could wish, believe me, it is from the apprehension of giving premature alarm to those who interest themselves in the fortunes of our charge.”