lamp of petroleum lighted the scene, and shone upon the figures of two
fishermen, who bewailed themselves unintelligibly in the vibrant
accents of Chiozza, and from time to time advanced upon the gondoliers,
and shook their heads and beat their breasts at them, A few police-
guards reclined upon benches about the room, and surveyed the spectacle
with mild impassibility.

Ferris politely asked one of them the cause of the detention.

"Why, you see, signore," answered the guard amiably, "these honest men
accuse your gondoliers of having stolen a rope out of their boat at
Dolo."

"It was my blood, you know!" howled the elder of the fishermen, tossing
his arms wildly abroad, "it was my own heart," he cried, letting the
last vowel die away and rise again in mournful refrain, while he stared
tragically into Ferris's face.

"What _is_ the matter?" asked Mrs. Vervain, putting up her
glasses, and trying with graceful futility to focus the melodrama.

"Nothing," said Ferris; "our gondoliers have had the heart's blood of
this respectable Dervish; that is to say, they have stolen a rope
belonging to him."

"_Our_ gondoliers! I don't believe it. They've no right to keep us
here all night. Tell them you're the American consul."

"I'd rather not try my dignity on these underlings, Mrs. Vervain;
there's no American squadron here that I could order to bombard Fusina,