less vivacity of temperament than is wont, at his years."

"Eccellenza, yes."

"One who consorts but little with his fellows, and who is rather noted
for the silence and industry with which he attends to his concerns, than
for any of the usual pleasantries and trifling of men of his cast. A
certain Jacopo Frontoni, that hath his abode somewhere near the
arsenal?"

"Cospetto! Signor' Duca, the man is as well known to us gondoliers as
the bridge of the Rialto! Your eccellenza has no need to trouble
yourself to describe him."

Don Camillo Monforte was searching among the papers of a secretaire. He
raised his eyes in some little amazement at the sally of his dependant,
and then he quietly resumed his occupation.

"If thou knowest the man, it is enough."

"Eccellenza, yes. And what is your pleasure with this accursed Jacopo?"

The Duke of Sant' Agata seemed to recollect himself. He replaced the
papers which had been deranged, and he closed the secretaire.

"Gino," he said, in a tone of confidence and amity, "thou wert born on
my estates, though so long trained here to the oar in Venice, and thou
hast passed thy life in my service."

"Eccellenza, yes."