“I expect so,” agreed Matteo.

“That is the worst of being born of good family.  You have got to marry some one of your father’s choice, not your own, and that choice is determined simply by the desire to add to the political influence of the family, to strengthen distant ties, or to obtain powerful connections.  I suppose it is the same everywhere, Matteo, but I do think that a man or woman ought to have some voice in a matter of such importance to them.”

“I think so, too, at the present time,” Matteo laughed; “but I don’t suppose that I shall be of that opinion when I have a family of sons and daughters to marry.

“This gondola of yours must be a fast one indeed, Francisco, for with only one rower she keeps up with almost all the pair oared boats, and your boy is not exerting himself to the utmost, either.”

“She can fly along, I can tell you, Matteo.  You shall come out in her some evening when Giuseppi and I both take oars.  I have had her ten days now, and we have not come across anything that can hold her for a moment.”

“It is always useful,” Matteo said, “to have a fast boat.  It is invaluable in case you have been getting into a scrape, and have one of the boats of the city watch in chase of you.”

“I hope I sha’n’t want it for any purpose of that sort,” Francis answered, laughing.  “I do not think I am likely to give cause to the city watch to chase me.”

“I don’t think you are, Francisco, but there is never any saying.”

“At any rate it is always useful to be able to go fast if necessary, and if we did want to get away, I do not think there are many pair-oared gondolas afloat that would overtake us, though a good four oar might do so.  Giuseppi and I are so accustomed to each other’s stroke now, that though in a heavy boat we might not be a match for two men, in a light craft like this, where weight does not count for so much, we would not mind entering her for a race against the two best gondoliers on the canals, in an ordinary boat.”

A few evenings later, Francis was returning homewards at about half past ten, when, in passing along a quiet canal, the boat was hailed from the shore.

“Shall we take him, Messer Francisco?” Giuseppi asked in a low voice; for more than once they had late in the evening taken a fare.

Francis rowed, like Giuseppi, in his shirt, and in the darkness they were often taken for a pair-oared gondola on the lookout for a fare.  Francis had sometimes accepted the offer, because it was an amusement to see where the passenger wished to go—­to guess whether he was a lover hastening to keep an appointment, a gambler on a visit to some quiet locality, where high play went on unknown to the authorities, or simply one who had by some error missed his own gondola, and was anxious to return home.  It made no difference to him which way he rowed.  It was always possible that some adventure was to be met with, and the fare paid was a not unwelcome addition to Giuseppi’s funds.