As the stranger passed, his glittering organs rolled over the persons of the gondolier and his companion, but the look, though searching, was entirely without interest.  ’Twas the wandering but wary glance, which men who have much reason to distrust, habitually cast on a multitude.  It turned with the same jealous keenness on the face of the next it encountered, and by the time the steady and well balanced form was lost in the crowd, that quick and glowing eye had gleamed, in the same rapid and uneasy manner, on twenty others.

Neither the gondolier nor the mariner of Calabria spoke until their riveted gaze after the retiring figure became useless.  Then the former simply ejaculated, with a strong respiration—­

“Jacopo!”

His companion raised three of his fingers, with an occult meaning, towards the palace of the doges.

“Do they let him take the air, even in San Marco?” he asked, in unfeigned surprise.

“It is not easy, caro amico, to make water run up stream, or to stop the downward current.  It is said that most of the senators would sooner lose their hopes of the horned bonnet, than lose him.  Jacopo!  He knows more family secrets than the good Priore of San Marco himself, and he, poor man, is half his time in the confessional.”

“Aye, they are afraid to put him in an iron jacket, lest awkward secrets should be squeezed out.”

“Corpo di Bacco! there would be little peace in Venice, if the Council of Three should take it into their heads to loosen the tongue of yonder man in that rude manner.”

“But they say, Gino, that thy Council of Three has a fashion of feeding the fishes of the Lagunes, which might throw the suspicion of his death on some unhappy Ancona-man, were the body ever to come up again.”

“Well, no need of bawling it aloud, as if thou wert hailing a Sicilian through thy trumpet, though the fact should be so.  To say the truth, there are few men in business who are thought to have more custom than he who has just gone up the piazzetta.”

“Two sequins!” rejoined the Calabrian, enforcing his meaning by a significant grimace.

“Santa Madonna!  Thou forgettest, Stefano, that not even the confessor has any trouble with a job in which he has been employed.  Not a caratano less than a hundred will buy a stroke of his art.  Your blows, for two sequins, leave a man leisure to tell tales, or even to say his prayers half the time.”

“Jacopo!” ejaculated the other, with an emphasis which seemed to be a sort of summing up of all his aversion and horror.

The gondolier shrugged his shoulders with quite as much meaning as a man born on the shores of the Baltic could have conveyed by words; but he too appeared to think the matter exhausted.

“Stefano Milano,” he added, after a moment of pause, ’there are things in Venice which he who would eat his maccaroni in peace, would do well to forget.  Let thy errand in port be what it may, thou art in good season to witness the regatta which will be given by the state itself to-morrow.”