clanking of chains. He looked down, and saw that there was a little
skiff made fast to the quay, bounding up and down on the surges. Like a
lightning-flash a thought struck his mind. He jumped into the skiff;
cast it adrift; took hold of the oars, and stood bravely out to sea,
making straight for the Bucentoro. The nearer he got to it, the more
distinctly he heard the cries for help of those on board--

"'"Save the Doge!--Save the Doge!"

"'It is well known that, in squalls of this description, small boats
such as the one he was in are much more sea-worthy, and easier to
handle, than such large craft as the Bucentoro; and consequently many
of them came hurrying up from every direction to save the beloved
Marino Falieri. But it is the case, in this life, that the Eternal
Power always vouchsafes the success of a brave action to one alone, so
that others cumber themselves about it in vain. On this occasion the
rescue of the new Doge was allotted to Antonio, and therefore he, and
nobody else, succeeded in making his way, in his little fishing-boat,
to the Bucentoro. Old Falieri, well accustomed to dangers of this kind,
stepped with much coolness out of the magnificent but dangerous
Bucentoro into Antonio's boat, which bore him, lightly as a dolphin,
over the breaking waves, and landed him in a few minutes safe and sound
on the Piazza di San Marco. With dripping clothes, and great salt-drops
in his grey beard, the old man was taken into the church, where the
nobles, pale with alarm, concluded the ceremony of his triumphal entry.
The populace, as well as the Signoria, were wholly upset by this
unfortunate break-down of the triumphal entry. And, in addition to
this, the Doge, in his hurry and confusion, was led through between
the two columns where malefactors were usually put to death. In
consequence, Signoria and populace grew silent in the midst of their
rejoicing. The day, which had begun in such festivity, ended in sadness
and gloom.

"'On the Doge's preserver nobody seemed to bestow a thought. Antonio
himself was not thinking about the matter; he was lying in the entrance
of the ducal palace, tired to death, half fainting from pain. It was
all the more marvellous to him when, as it was almost dark night, a
ducal halberdier took hold of him by the shoulder, and, with the words
"Come along, good friend," pushed him into the palace, and to the
Doge's chamber. The old man came up to him in a friendly manner, and,
pointi