“God be praised, signor!  I have no longer a doubt.  I can tell you, for certain, that white flags are flying from these boats.”

“God be praised!” Francis replied.

“Now, up with the Lion!”

The flag was bent to the halyards and Francis hoisted it.  As it rose above the bulwark, Pisani, who was standing on a hillock of sand, shouted out at the top of his voice: 

“It is Zeno’s fleet!”

A shout of joy broke from the troops.  Cheer after cheer rent the air, from ship and shore, and then the wildest excitement reigned.  Some fell on their knees, to thank God for the rescue thus sent when all seemed lost.  Others stood with clasped hands, and streaming eyes, looking towards heaven.  Some danced and shouted.  Some wept with joy.  Men fell on to each other’s necks, and embraced.  Some threw up their caps.  All were wild with joy, and pent-up excitement.

Zeno, who, in ignorance of the terrible straits to which his countrymen were reduced, was making with his fleet direct to Venice, was intercepted by one of the galleys, and at once bore up for Brondolo, and presently dropped anchor near the shore.  As he did so, a boat was lowered, and he rowed to the strand, where the Venetians crowded down to greet him.  With difficulty, he made his way through the shouting multitude to the spot, a little distance away, where the doge was awaiting him.

Zeno was of medium height, square shouldered and broad chested.  His head was manly and handsome, his nose aquiline, his eyes large, dark, and piercingly bright, and shaded by strongly-marked eyebrows.  His air was grave and thoughtful, and in strong contrast to that of the merry and buoyant Pisani.  His temper was more equable, but his character was as impulsive as that of the admiral.  He was now forty-five years of age—­ten years the junior of Pisani.  Zeno was intended for the church, and was presented by the pope with the reversion of a rich prebendal stall at Patras.  On his way to Padua, to complete his studies at the university, he was attacked by robbers, who left him for dead.  He recovered, however, and went to Padua.  He became an accomplished scholar; but was so fond of gambling that he lost every penny, and was obliged to escape from his creditors by flight.  For five years he wandered over Italy, taking part in all sorts of adventures, and then suddenly returned to Venice, and was persuaded by his friends to proceed to Patras, where his stall was now vacant.

When he arrived there, he found the city besieged by the Turks.  In spite of his clerical dignity, he placed himself in the front rank of its defenders, and distinguished himself by extreme bravery.  He was desperately wounded, and was again believed to be dead.  He was even placed in his coffin; but just as it was being nailed down, he showed signs of returning life.  He did not stay long at Patras, but travelled in Germany, France, and England.

Soon after he returned to Patras he fought a duel, and thereby forfeited his stall.  He now renounced the clerical profession, and married a wealthy heiress.  She died shortly afterwards, and he married the daughter of the Admiral Marco Giustiniani.