“There are fellows in the world, Signor Andrea,” the straightforward podesta urged, in continuation of his objections, “who might be glad enough to find everything imaginary, as you say—­chaps that cannot sleep of nights, for bad consciences, and to whom it would be a great blessing if the earth would throw them overboard, as they say in this ship, and let them fall into the great ocean of oblivion.  But they are baroni in grain, and ought not to pass for anything material, among honest people.  I’ve known several of those rogues at Livorno, and I dare say Napoli is not altogether without them; but that is a very different matter from telling a handsome and virtuous young maiden that her beauty and modesty are both seeming; and respectable magistrates that they are as great impostors as the very rogues they send to the prisons; or, perhaps, to the galleys.”

To speeches like these, Andrea opposed his explanations and his philosophy, until the discussion became animated, and the dialogue loud.  It is rather a peculiarity of Italy, that one of the softest languages of Christendom is frequently rendered harsh and unpleasant by the mode of using it.  On this occasion, certainly, the animation of the disputants did not mitigate the evil.  Griffin happened to pass the spot, on the outside of the canvas, just at this moment, and, catching some of the words, he stopped to listen.  His smiles and translations soon collected a group of officers, and the sentry respectfully dropping a little on one side, the deck around the state-room of the prisoner became a sort of parquet to a very amusing representation.  Several of the young gentlemen understood a little Italian, and Griffin translating rapidly, though in an undertone, the whole affair was deemed to be particularly diverting.

“This is a rum way of consoling a man who is condemned to die,” muttered the master; “I wonder the Frenchman stands all their nonsense.”

“Oh!” rejoined the marine officer, “drill will do anything.  These Revolutionists are so drilled into hypocrisy, that I dare say the fellow is grinning the whole time, as if perfectly delighted.”

Raoul, in fact, listened with no little amusement.  At first, his voice was occasionally heard in the discussion, evidently aiming at exciting the disputants; but the warmth of the latter soon silenced him, and he was fain to do nothing but listen.  Shortly after the discussion got to be warm, and just as Griffin was collecting his group, the prisoner stretched himself still further into the port, to enjoy the coolness of the evening breeze, when, to his surprise, a hand was laid gently on his forehead.

“Hush!” whispered a voice close to his ear, “it is the American—­Ithuel—­be cool;—­now is the moment to pull for life.”