“Wilt thou have more masses?  Son of thine shall never want a voice with the saints, for the ease of his soul!”

“I thank you, eccellenza, but I have faith in what has been done, and, more than all, in the mercy of God.  My errand now is in behalf of the living.”

The sympathy of the senator was suddenly checked, and he already listened with a doubting and suspicious air.

“Thy errand?” he simply repeated.

“Is to beg your interest, Signore, to obtain the release of my grandson from the galleys.  They have seized the lad in his fourteenth year, and condemned him to the wars with the Infidels, without thought of his tender years, without thought of evil example, without thought of my age and loneliness, and without justice; for his father died in the last battle given to the Turk.”

As he ceased, the fisherman riveted his look on the marble countenance of his auditor, wistfully endeavoring to trace the effect of his words.  But all there was cold, unanswering, and void of human sympathy.  The soulless, practised, and specious reasoning of the state, had long since deadened all feeling in the senator on any subject that touched an interest so vital as the maritime power of the Republic.  He saw the hazard of innovation in the slightest approach to interests so delicate, and his mind was drilled by policy into an apathy that no charity could disturb, when there was question of the right of St. Mark to the services of his people.

“I would thou hadst come to beg masses, or gold, or aught but this, Antonio!” he answered, after a moment of delay.  “Thou hast had the company of the boy, if I remember, from his birth, already.”

“Signore, I have had that satisfaction, for he was an orphan born; and I would wish to have it until the child is fit to go into the world armed with an honesty and faith that shall keep him from harm.  Were my own brave son here, he would ask no other fortune for the lad than such counsel and aid as a poor man has a right to bestow on his own flesh and blood.”

“He fareth no worse than others; and thou knowest that the Republic hath need of every arm.”

“Eccellenza, I saw the Signor Giacomo land from his gondola, as I entered the palace.”

“Out upon thee, fellow! dost thou make no distinction between the son of a fisherman, one trained to the oar and toil, and the heir of an ancient house?  Go to, presuming man, and remember thy condition, and the difference that God hath made between our children.”

“Mine never gave me sorrow but the hour in which they died,” said the fisherman, uttering a severe but mild reproof.

The Signor Gradenigo felt the sting of this retort, which in no degree aided the cause of his indiscreet foster-brother.  After pacing the room in agitation for some time, he so far conquered his resentment as to answer more mildly, as became his rank.

“Antonio,” he said, “thy disposition and boldness are not strangers to me; if thou would’st have masses for the dead, or gold for the living, they are thine; but in asking for my interest with the general of the galleys, thou askest that which, at a moment so critical, could not be yielded to the son of the Doge, were the Doge—­”