“And the great Signor medico, Acquapendente, will be made this day Cavaliere of the Republic, since he hath had the wonderful fortune to save the life of our Padre Maestro Paolo; for it is well known there was little hope of matins or vespers more for him, the night the maledetti bravi left the stiletto in his face!”

“And thou, Giuseppe!” cried a smiling mother from Mazzorbo, proudly indicating her boy as an object of interest, and pushing him into a more prominent position—­“the bambino hath seen it with his own eyes, since he is prentice at the metal graver’s shop of Messer Maffeo Olivieri on the Rialto; thou, tell us, Giuseppe, of this great goblet of graven silver which the Master Olivieri hath ready for the presentation, by order of the Signoria.  E bello, ah? Bellissimo!  And the Lion of San Marco on the crown of it—­e vero Giuseppe?—­with wings—­magnifico!  And jewels of rubino in the eyes of it; and a tongue——­”

“Cosi!” interposed Giuseppe, with dramatic effectiveness, thrusting out his own with relish. “Thus!”

“Ma c’e altro!” cried a gondolier from Murano.  “There is more yet!  For the magnificent galley which the little one of the Ca’ Giustiniani—­he that is grandson to our Messer Girolamo Magagnati—­hath given to the Republic will be floated out from the basin of the arsenal and christened this day!”

The spirits of the light-hearted crowd effervesced in a jubilant cheer.

“I Giustiniani!”

On every page of the history of Venice the name of the Giustiniani stood brilliantly forth, and the stained and tattered banners in the great hall of the arsenal were so many laurel leaves for this patrician house, keeping the memory of the brilliant victory of Lepanto green in the hearts of the Venetians.  It was a Giustinian, “Gonfaloniere,” standard bearer, who had brought the glorious news on his triumphant galley, the solemn Lion of San Marco waving his banner above the drooping crescent of the Turk from every green wreathed mast.  It was this Giustinian who had been carried in triumph on the shoulders of the people, before the Doge and the Signoria—­who had been the hero when that solemn Mass, in honor of the victory, had been offered up in the ducal chapel—­when the Rialto and the Merceria, for the extravagant joy of Venice, were draped in blue and scarlet and gold, bound laurel wreaths and decorated with the art treasures of Titian and Giorgone.  It was a name which the people were accustomed to honor.  “I Giustiniani!” they shouted.

There was a sudden hush, for the bells of the Campanile of San Marco had given the signal, and there was a great stir before the Piazza—­a train of gondolas was sweeping into line far down the Canal Grande; the guards on the watch-towers of the arsenal were full of animation; the gondolas of the orderlies were buzzing like bees about the barge of the grand admiral, who awaited the coming of the Doge, in all his magnificence of satin ceremonial robes.  He was like a noble to-day, this man of the people. Viva San Marco!