’Maso spoke authoritatively, for he felt that he was now not out of his depth, and it was grateful to him to let the public know how much better he understood all these matters than a magistrate.  On the other hand, the podesta was nettled, and disappointed into the bargain, for he really imagined he was drawing nice distinctions, much as it was his wont to do in legal proceedings; and it was his ambition to be thought to know something of everything.

“Well, Tonti,” answered Signor Viti, in a protecting manner, and with an affable smile, “as this is not an affair that is likely to go to the higher courts at Florence, your explanations may be taken as sufficient, and I have no wish to disturb them—­a lugger is a lugger.”

“Si, Signore; that is just what we say in the port.  A lugger is a lugger.”

“And yonder strange craft, you maintain, and at need are ready to swear, is a lugger?”

Now ’Maso seeing no necessity for any oath in the affair, and being always somewhat conscientious in such matters, whenever the custom-house officers did not hold the book, was a little startled at this suggestion, and he took another and a long look at the stranger before he answered.

“Si, Signore,” he replied, after satisfying his mind once more, through his eyes, “I will swear that the stranger yonder is a lugger.”

“And canst thou add, honest Tonti, of what nation?  The nation is of as much moment in these troubled times, as the rig.”

“You say truly, Signor Podesta; for if an Algerine, or a Moor, or even a Frenchman, he will be an unwelcome visitor in the Canal of Elba.  There are many different signs about him, that sometimes make me think he belongs to one people, and then to another; and I crave your pardon if I ask a little leisure to let him draw nearer, before I give a positive opinion.”

As this request was reasonable, no objection was raised.  The podesta turned aside, and observing Ghita, who had visited his niece, and of whose intelligence he entertained a favorable opinion, he drew nearer to the girl, determined to lose a moment in dignified trifling.

“Honest ’Maso, poor fellow, is sadly puzzled,” he observed, smiling benevolently, as if in pity for the pilot’s embarrassment; “he wishes to persuade us that the strange craft yonder is a lugger, though he cannot himself say to what country she belongs!”

“It is a lugger, Signore,” returned the girl, drawing a long breath, as if relieved by hearing the sound of her own voice.

“How! dost thou pretend to be so skilled in vessels as to distinguish these particulars at the distance of a league?”

“I do not think it a league, Signore—­not more than half a league; and the distance lessens fast, though the wind is so light.  As for knowing a lugger from a felucca, it is as easy as to know a house from a church, or one of the reverend padri, in the streets, from a mariner.”