"

"I should like to see the experiment made, merely for its curiosity,"
said the governor.

"You shall be obeyed," was the answer; "but I never ask for more than a
sum for present expenses. Here, you fellow!" said he, turning to one of
the half-naked soldiery, "lend me five hundred sequins!"

The whole guard burst into laughter. The sum would have been a severe
demand on the military chest of the army. The handsome stranger advanced
to him, and, seizing his musket, said, loftily, "Fellow, if you won't
give the money, this must." He struck the butt-end of the musket thrice
upon the floor. At the third blow a burst of gold poured out, and
sequins ran in every direction. The soldiery and the officers of the
court were in utter astonishment. All wondered, many began to cross
themselves, and several of the most celebrated swearers in the regiment
dropped upon their knees. But their devotions were not long, for the
sublime podesta ordered the hall to be cleared, and himself, the
stranger, and the sequins, left alone.

For three days nothing more was heard of any of the three, and the
Vicenzese scarcely ate, drank, or slept, through anxiety to know what
was become of the man in the scarlet cloak, and cap striped green and
vermilion. Jealousy, politics, and piety, at length put their heads
together, and, by the evening of the third day, the _cavalieri_ had
agreed that he was some rambling actor, or Alpine thief, the statesmen,
that he was a spy; and the Dominicans that he was Satan in person. The
women, partly through the contradiction natural to the lovely sex, and
partly through the novelty of not having the world in their own way,
were silent; a phenomenon which the Italian philosophers still consider
the true wonder of the whole affair.

On the evening of the third day a new Venetian governor, with a stately
_cortege_, was seen entering at the Water Gate, full gallop, from
Venice: he drove straight to the podesta's house, and, after an
audience, was provided with apartments in the town-house, one of the
finest in Italy, and looking out upon the _Piazza Grande_, in which are
the two famous columns, one then surmounted by the winged lion of St.
Mark, as the other still is by a statue of the founder of our faith.

The night was furiously stormy, and the torrents of rain and perpetual
roaring of the thunder drove the people out of the streets. But between
the tempest and curiosity not an eye was closed that night in the