When within the dimmer and broken light of the court, Jacopo paused, evidently to scan the persons of those it contained.  It is to be presumed he saw no reason to delay, for with a secret sign to his companion to follow, he crossed the area, and mounted the well known steps, down which the head of the Faliero had rolled, and which, from the statues on the summit, is called the Giant’s Stairs.  The celebrated mouths of the lions were passed, and they were walking swiftly along the open gallery when they encountered a halberdier of the ducal guard.

“Who comes?” demanded the mercenary, throwing forward his long and dangerous weapon.

“Friends to the state and to St. Mark.”

“None pass at this hour without the word.”

Jacopo motioned to Antonio to stand fast, while he drew nearer to the halberdier and whispered.  The weapon was instantly thrown up, and the sentinel again paced the long gallery with practised indifference.  The way was no sooner cleared than they proceeded.  Antonio, not a little amazed at what he had already seen, eagerly followed his guide, for his heart began to beat high with an exciting but undefined hope.  He was not so ignorant of human affairs as to require to be told that those who ruled would sometimes concede that in secret which policy forbade them to yield openly.  Full, therefore, of the expectation of being ushered into the presence of the Doge himself, and of having his child restored to his arms, the old man stepped lightly along the gloomy gallery, and darting through an entrance, at the heels of Jacopo, he found himself at the foot of another flight of massive steps.  The route now became confused to the fisherman, for, quitting the more public vomitories of the palace, his companion held his way by a secret door, through many dimly lighted and obscure passages.  They ascended and descended frequently, as often quitting or entering rooms of but ordinary dimensions and decorations, until the head of Antonio was completely turned, and he no longer knew the general direction of their course.  At length they stopped in an apartment of inferior ornaments, and of a dusky color, which the feeble light rendered still more gloomy.

“Thou art well acquainted with the dwelling of our prince,” said the fisherman, when his companion enabled him to speak, by checking his swift movements.  “The oldest gondolier of Venice is not more ready on the canals, than thou appearest to be among these galleries and corridors.”

“’Tis my business to bring thee hither, and what I am to do, I endeavor to do well.  Antonio, thou art a man that feareth not to stand in the presence of the great, as this day hath shown.  Summon thy courage, for a moment of trial is before thee.”

“I have spoken boldly to the Doge.  Except the Holy Father himself, what power is there on earth besides to fear?”

“Thou mayest have spoken, fisherman, too boldly.  Temper thy language, for the great love not words of disrespect.”