"There it is, you see," his companion said. "So long as we have a safe
conscience, in London we are frightened at nothing, whereas here no one
can say with certainty that he may not, before tomorrow morning, be
lying in the dungeons of St. Mark, without the slightest idea in the
world as to what his crime has been."

"There, there, Francisco," Matteo said uneasily. "Do talk about other
things. Your notions may do very well in England, but are not safe to
discuss here. Of course there are plenty here who would gladly see a
change in some matters, but one cannot have everything; and, after all,
when one has so much to be proud of, one need not grumble because
everything is not just as one would like."

"Yes, you have much to be proud of," Francis Hammond agreed. "It is
marvellous that the people of these scattered islets should be masters
of the sea, that their alliance should be coveted by every power in
Europe, that they should be the greatest trading community in the
world. If I were not English I should like to be Venetian."

The speakers were standing at the edge of the water in front of the
Palace of St. Mark. In the piazza behind them a throng of people were
walking to and fro, gossiping over the latest news from Constantinople,
the last rumour as to the doings of the hated rival of Venice, Genoa,
or the purport of the letter which had, as everyone knew, been brought
by the Bishop of Treviso from the pope to the seignory.

The moon was shining brightly overhead, and glittering in the waters of
the lagoon, which were broken into innumerable little wavelets by the
continual crossing and recrossing of the gondolas dotting its surface.