“Well, a gondola is mortal, as well as a felucca, and both have their time; better die by the prow of a brig than fall into the gripe of a Turk.  How is thy young master, Gino; and is he likely to obtain his claims of the senate?”

“He cools himself in the Giudecca in the morning; and if thou would’st know what he does at evening, thou hast only to look among the nobles in the Broglio.”

As the gondolier spoke he glanced an eye aside at a group of patrician rank, who paced the gloomy arcades which supported the superior walls of the doge’s palace, a spot sacred, at times, to the uses of the privileged.

“I am no stranger to the habit thy Venetian nobles have of coming to that low colonnade at this hour, but I never before heard of their preferring the waters of the Giudecca for their baths.”

“Were even the doge to throw himself out of a gondola, he must sink or swim, like a meaner Christian.”

“Acqua dell’ Adriatico!  Was the young duca going to the Redentore, too, to say his prayers?”

“He was coming back after having; but what matters it in what canal a young noble sighs away the night!  We happened to be near when the Ancona-man performed his feat; while Giorgio and I were boiling with rage at the awkwardness of the stranger, my master, who never had much taste or knowledge in gondolas, went into the water to save the young lady from sharing the fate of her uncle.”

“Diavolo!  This is the first syllable thou hast uttered concerning any young lady, or of the death of her uncle!”

“Thou wert thinking of thy Tunis-man, and hast forgotten.  I must have told thee how near the beautiful signora was to sharing the fate of the gondola, and how the loss of the Roman marchese weighs, in addition, on the soul of the padrone.”

“Santo Padre!  That a Christian should die the death of a hunted dog by the carelessness of a gondolier!”

“It may have been lucky for the Ancona-man that it so fell out; for they say the Roman was one of influence enough to make a senator cross the Bridge of Sighs, at need.”

“The devil take all careless watermen, say I!  And what became of the awkward rogue?”

“I tell thee he went outside the Lido that very hour, or——­”

“Pietrello?”

“He was brought up by the oar of Giorgio, for both of us were active in saving the cushions and other valuables.”

“Could’st thou do nothing for the poor Roman?  Ill-luck may follow that brig on account of his death!”

“Ill-luck follow her, say I, till she lays her bones on some rock that is harder than the heart of her padrone.  As for the stranger, we could do no more than offer up a prayer to San Teodoro, since he never rose after the blow.  But what has brought thee to Venice, caro mio? for thy ill-fortune with the oranges, in the last voyage, caused thee to denounce the place.”

The Calabrian laid a finger on one cheek, and drew the skin down in a manner to give a droll expression to his dark, comic eye, while the whole of his really fine Grecian face was charged with an expression of coarse humor.