"Oh," said the Italian, "they are poor fellows it is a little matter; I
am glad to have served you."

He took leave of his involuntary guests with effusion, following them
with a lantern to the gondola.

Mrs. Vervain, to whom Ferris gave an account of this trial as they set
out again on their long-hindered return, had no mind save for the
magical effect of his consular quality upon the commissary, and accused
him of a vain and culpable modesty.

"Ah," said the diplomatist, "there's nothing like knowing just when to
produce your dignity. There are some officials who know too little,--
like those guards; and there are some who know too much,--like the
commissary's superiors. But he is just in that golden mean of ignorance
where he supposes a consul is a person of importance."

Mrs. Vervain disputed this, and Ferris submitted in silence. Presently,
as they skirted the shore to get their bearings for the route across
the lagoon, a fierce voice in Venetian shouted from the darkness,
"Indrio, indrio!" (Back, back!) and a gleam of the moon through the
pale, watery clouds revealed the figure of a gendarme on the nearest
point of land. The gondoliers bent to their oars, and sent the boat
swiftly out into the lagoon.

"There, for example, is a person who would be quite insensible to my
greatness, even if I had the consular seal in my pocket. To him we are
possible smugglers; [Footnote: Under the Austrians, Venice was a free
port but everything carried there to the mainland was liable to duty.]
and I must say," he continued, taking out his watch, and staring hard