“Is truth unpleasant to them?”

“That is as may be.  They love to hear their own acts praised, when their acts have merited praise, but they do not like to hear them condemned, even though they know what is said to be just.”

“I fear me,” said the old man, looking with simplicity at the other, “there is little difference between the powerful and the weak, when the garments are stripped from both, and the man stands naked to the eye.”

“That truth may not be spoken here.”

“How!  Do they deny that they are Christians, and mortals, and sinners?”

“They make a merit of the first, Antonio—­they forget the second, and they never like to be called the last by any but themselves.”

“I doubt, Jacopo, after all, if I get from them the freedom of the boy.”

“Speak them fair, and say naught to wound their self-esteem, or to menace their authority—­they will pardon much, if the last, in particular, be respected.”

“But it is that authority which has taken away my child!  Can I speak in favor of the power which I know to be unjust?”

“Thou must feign it, or thy suit will fail.”

“I will go back to the Lagunes, good Jacopo, for this tongue of mine hath ever moved at the bidding of the heart.  I fear I am too old to say that a son may righteously be torn from the father by violence.  Tell them, thou, from me, that I came thus far, in order to do them respect, but that, seeing the hopelessness of beseeching further, I have gone to my nets, and to my prayers to blessed St. Anthony.”

As he ceased speaking, Antonio wrung the hand of his motionless companion, and turned away, as if to retire.  Two halberds fell to the level of his breast ere his foot had quitted the marble floor, and he now saw, for the first time, that armed men crossed his passage, and that, in truth, he was a prisoner.  Nature had endowed the fisherman with a quick and just perception, and long habit had given great steadiness to his nerves.  When he perceived his real situation, instead of entering into useless remonstrance, or in any manner betraying alarm, he again turned to Jacopo with an air of patience and resignation.

“It must be that the illustrious Signore wish to do me justice,” he said, smoothing the remnant of his hair, as men of his class prepare themselves for the presence of their superiors, “and it would not be decent in an humble fisherman to refuse them the opportunity.  It would be better, however, if there were less force used here in Venice, in a matter of simple right and wrong.  But the great love to show their power, and the weak must submit.”

“We shall see!” answered Jacopo, who had manifested no emotion during the abortive attempt of the other to retire.