“And the means?”

“The plainest and the most certain—­the lion’s mouth.”

“Ha! that, indeed, is a bold adventure.”

“And, like all bold adventures, it is the more likely to succeed.  For once, fortune hath not been a niggard with me.  I have given them the Neapolitan’s signet by way of proof.”

“Giacomo! dost thou know the hazard of thy temerity?  I hope there is no clue left in the handwriting, or by any other means taken to obtain the ring?”

“Father, though I may have overlooked thy instruction in less weighty matters, not an admonition which touches the policy of Venice hath been forgotten.  The Neapolitan stands accused, and if thy council is faithful, he will be a suspected, if not a banished man.”

“That the Council of Three will perform its trust is beyond dispute.  I would I were as certain that thy indiscreet zeal may not lead to some unpleasant exposure!”

The shameless son stared at the father a moment in doubt, and then he passed into the more private parts of the palace, like one too much accustomed to double-dealing, to lend it a second, or a serious thought.  The senator remained.  His silent walk was now manifestly disturbed by great uneasiness; and he frequently passed a hand across his brow, as if he mused in pain.  While thus occupied, a figure stole through the long suite of ante-chambers, and stopped near the door of the room he occupied.  The intruder was aged; his face was tawny by exposure, and his hair thinned and whitened by time.  His dress was that of a fisherman, being both scanty and of the meanest materials.  Still there was a naturally noble and frank intelligence in his bold eye and prominent features, while the bare arms and naked legs exhibited a muscle and proportion which proved that nature was rather at a stand than in the decline.  He had been many moments dangling his cap, in habitual but unembarrassed respect, before his presence was observed.

“Ha! thou here, Antonio!” exclaimed the senator, when their eyes met.  “Why this visit?”

“Signore, my heart is heavy.”

“Hath the calendar no saint—­the fisherman no patron?  I suppose the sirocco hath been tossing the waters of the bay, and thy nets are empty.  Hold! thou art my foster-brother, and thou must not want.”

The fisherman drew back with dignity, refusing the gift, simply, but decidedly, by the act.

“Signore, we have lived from childhood to old age since we drew our milk from the same breast; in all that time have you ever known me a beggar?”

“Thou art not wont to ask these boons, Antonio, it is true; but age conquers our pride with our strength.  If it be not sequins that thou seekest, what would’st thou?”

“There are other wants than those of the body, Signore, and other sufferings besides hunger.”

The countenance of the senator lowered.  He cast a sharp glance at his foster-brother, and ere he answered he closed the door which communicated with the outer chamber.