To Francis this time was delightful.  He had had no sister of his own; and although he had made the acquaintance of a number of lads in Venice, and had accompanied his father to formal entertainments at the houses of his friends, he had never before been intimate in any of their families.  The gaiety and high spirits of the two girls, when they were in the house, amused and pleased him, especially as it was in contrast to the somewhat stiff and dignified demeanour which they assumed when passing through the frequented canals in the gondola.

“I do not like that woman Castaldi,” Francis said one evening as, after leaving the palazzo, Giuseppi rowed them towards the Palazzo Giustiniani, where Matteo was to be landed.

“Gouvernantes are not popular, as a class, with young men,” Matteo laughed.

“But seriously, Matteo, I don’t like her; and I am quite sure that, for some reason or other, she does not like me.  I have seen her watching me, as a cat would watch a mouse she is going to spring on.”

“Perhaps she has not forgiven you, Francisco, for saving her two charges, and leaving her to the mercy of their assailants.”

“I don’t know, Matteo.  Her conduct appeared to me, at the time, to be very strange.  Of course, she might have been paralysed with fright, but it was certainly curious the way she clung to their dresses, and tried to prevent them from leaving the boat.”

“You don’t really think, Francis, that she wanted them to be captured?”

“I don’t know whether I should be justified in saying as much as that, Matteo, and I certainly should not say so to anyone else, but I can’t help thinking that such was the case.  I don’t like her face, and I don’t like the woman.  She strikes me as being deceitful.  She certainly did try to prevent my carrying the girls off and, had not their dresses given way in her hands, she would have done so.  Anyhow, it strikes me that Ruggiero must have had some accomplice in the house.  How else could he have known of the exact time at which they would be passing along the Grand Canal?  For, that the gondola was in waiting to dash out and surprise them, there is no doubt.

“I was asking Signora Giulia, the other day, how it was they were so late, for she says that her father never liked their being out after dusk in Venice, though at Corfu he did not care how late they were upon the water.  She replied that she did not quite know how it happened.  Her sister had said, some time before, that she thought it was time to be going, but the gouvernante—­who was generally very particular—­had said that there was no occasion to hurry, as their father knew where they were, and would not be uneasy.  She thought the woman must have mistaken the time, and did not know how late it was.

“Of course, this proves nothing.  Still I own that, putting all the things together, I have my suspicions.”

“It is certainly curious, Francisco, though I can hardly believe it possible that the woman could be treacherous.  She has been for some years in the service of the family, and my cousin has every confidence in her.”