“I have heard that he who kept civil speech, and in naught offended against the laws, might be seen at will, disguised in Venice, without question of his affairs or name.”

“Most true, in all that does not offend St. Mark.  But here is a concert worthy of inquiry:  I command thee, unmask.”

The waterman, reading in every face around him the necessity of obedience, slowly withdrew the means of concealment, and discovered the pallid countenance and glittering eyes of Jacopo.  An involuntary movement of all near, left this dreaded person standing singly, confronted with the Prince of Venice, in a wide circle of wondering and curious listeners.

“I know thee not!” exclaimed the Doge, with an open amazement that proved his sincerity, after regarding the other earnestly for a moment.  “Thy reasons for the disguise should be better than thy reasons for refusing the prize.”

The Signor Gradenigo drew near to the sovereign, and whispered in his ear.  When he had done, the latter cast one look, in which curiosity and aversion were in singular union, at the marked countenance of the Bravo, and then he silently motioned to him to depart.  The throng drew about the royal person with instinctive readiness, closing the space in his front.

“We shall look into this at our leisure,” said the Doge.  “Let the festivities proceed.”

Jacopo bowed low, and withdrew.  As he moved along the deck of the Bucentaur, the senators made way, as if pestilence was in his path, though it was quite apparent, by the expression of their faces, that it was in obedience to a feeling of a mixed character.  The avoided, but still tolerated Bravo descended to his gondola, and the usual signals were given to the multitude beneath, who believed the customary ceremonies were ended.

“Let the gondolier of Don Camillo Monforte stand forth,” cried a herald, obedient to the beck of a superior.

“Highness, here,” answered Gino, troubled and hurried.

“Thou art of Calabria?”

“Highness, yes.”

“But of long practice on our Venetian canals or thy gondola could never have outstripped those of the readiest oarsmen.  Thou servest a noble master?”

“Highness, yes.”

“And it would seem that the Duke of St. Agata is happy in the possession of an honest and faithful follower?”

“Highness, too happy.”

“Kneel, and receive the reward of thy resolution and skill.”

Gino, unlike those who had preceded him, bent a willing knee to the deck, and took the prize with a low and humble inclination of the body.  At this moment the attention of the spectators was drawn from the short and simple ceremony by a loud shout, which arose from the water at no great distance from the privileged bark of the senate.  A common movement drew all to the side of the galley, and the successful gondolier was quickly forgotten.