“Well, I shall say goodnight now,” the English boy said.  “My father doesn’t like my being out after ten.  He keeps up his English habits of shutting up early, and has not learned to turn night into day as you do here in Venice.”

“The bell has just tolled the hour, Francis,” his father said as he entered.

“I didn’t think it was quite so late, father; the Piazza is crowded.  I really do not think there is one person in Venice who goes to bed so early as we do.  It is so pleasant in the moonlight after the heat of the day.”

“That is true enough, Francis, but men are meant to sleep at night and to work in the day.  I think our fathers carried this too far when they rang the curfew at eight; but ten is quite late enough for any honest man to be about in the streets, and the hours of the early morning are just as pleasant and far more healthy than those of the evening, especially in a place like this where the mists rise from the water, to say nothing of the chance of meeting a band of wild gallants on their way homewards heated with wine, or of getting a stab in the back from some midnight assassin.  However, I do not blame Venice for enjoying herself while she can.  She will have more serious matters to attend to soon.”

“But she is at peace with every one at present, father.  I thought when she signed the treaty with Austria after a year’s fighting, she was going to have rest for a time.”

“That was only the beginning of the trouble, Francis, and the council knew it well; that was why they made such terms with Austria as they did.  They knew that Austria was only acting in accord with Hungary, and Padua, and Genoa.  The others were not ready to begin, so Austria came on her own account to get what booty and plunder she could.  But the storm is gathering, and will burst before long.  But do not let us stand talking here any longer.  It is high time for you to be in bed.”

But though Francis retired to his room, it was more than an hour before he got into bed.  His window looked down upon one of the canals running into the Grand Canal.  Gondolas lighted by lanterns, or by torches held by servitors, passed constantly backwards and forwards beneath his window, and by leaning out he could see the passing lights of those on the Grand Canal.  Snatches of song and laughter came up to him, and sometimes the note of a musical instrument.  The air was soft and balmy, and he felt no inclination for sleep.

Francis thought over what his father had said of the probability of war, as he sat at his window, and wished that he were a couple of years older and could take part in the struggle.  The Venetian fleet had performed such marvels of valour, that, in the days when military service was almost the sole avenue to distinction and fortune, the desire to take part in a naval expedition, which promised unusual opportunities of gaining credit and renown, was the most natural thing possible for a boy of spirit.