Maso came forward at a signal from Sigismund, and stood before the party to whom he had rendered so signal aid, with a composure that was not easily disturbed.

“I have come up to the castle, Signore, at your commands,” he said, addressing the Genoese; “but, having my own affairs on hand, must now beg to know your pleasure?”

“We have, in sooth, been negligent of thy merit.  On landing, my first thought was of thee, as thou knowest:  but other things had caused me to forget thee.  Thou art, like myself, an Italian?”

“Signore, I am.”

“Of what country?”

“Of your own, Signore; a Genoese, as I have said before.”

The other remembered the circumstance, though it did not seem to please him.  He looked around, as if to detect what others thought, and then continued his questions.

“A Genoese!” he repeated, slowly:  “if this be so, we should know something of each other.  Hast ever heard of me, in thy frequent visits to the port?”

Maso smiled; at first, he appeared disposed to be facetious; but a dark cloud passed over his swarthy lineaments, and he lost his pleasantry, in an air of thoughtfulness that struck his interrogator as singular.

“Signore,” he said, after a pause, “most that follow my manner of life know something of your eccellenza; if it is only to be questioned of this that I am here, I pray leave to be permitted to go my way.”

“No, by San Francesco! thou quittest us not so unceremoniously.  I am wrong to assume the manner of a superior with one to whom I owe my life, and am well answered.  But there is a heavy account to be settled between us, and I will do something towards wiping out the balance, which is so greatly against me, now; leaving thee to apply for a further statement, when we shall both be again in our own Genoa.”

The Signor Grimaldi had reached forth an arm, while speaking, and received a well-filled purse from his countryman and companion, Marcelli.  This was soon emptied of its contents, a fair show of sequins, all of which were offered to the mariner, without reservation.  Maso looked coldly at the glittering pile, and, by his hesitation, left a doubt whether he did not think the reward insufficient.

“I tell thee it is but the present gage of further payment.  At Genoa our account shall be fairly settled; but this is all that a traveller can prudently spare.  Thou wilt come to me in our own town, and we will look to all thy interests.”

“Signore, you offer that for which men do all acts, whether of good or of evil.  They jeopard their souls for this very metal; mock at God’s laws; overlook the right; trifle with justice, and become devils incarnate to possess it; and yet, though nearly penniless, I am so placed as to be compelled to refuse what you offer.”

“I tell thee, Maso, that it shall be increased hereafter—­or—­we are not so poor as to go a-begging!  Good Marcelli, empty thy hoards, and I will have, recourse to Melchior de Willading’s purse for our wants, until we can get nearer to our own supplies.”