but it is thine. My father is not rich, as thou
can'st feel, or he would not live on the sufferings of others, by
holding the keys of the prison."

"He is better employed than those who set the duty. Were the choice
given me, girl, to wear the horned bonnet, to feast in their halls, to
rest in their palaces, to be the gayest bauble in such a pageant as that
of yesterday, to plot in their secret councils, and to be the heartless
judge to condemn my fellows to this misery--or to be merely the keeper
of the keys and turner of the bolts--I should seize on the latter
office, as not only the most innocent, but by far the most honorable!"

"Thou dost not judge as the world judges, Carlo. I had feared thou
might'st feel shame at being the husband of a jailor's daughter; nay, I
will not hide the secret longer, since thou speakest so calmly, I have
wept that it should be so."

"Then thou hast neither understood the world nor me. Were thy father of
the Senate, or of the Council of Three, could the grievous fact be
known, thou would'st have cause to sorrow. But, Gelsomina, the canals
are getting dusky, and I must leave thee."

The reluctant girl saw the truth of what he said, and applying a key,
she opened the door of the covered bridge. A few turnings and a short
descent brought the Bravo and his companion to the level of the quays.
Here the former took a hurried leave and quitted the prison.

CHAPTER XX.

"But they who blunder thus are raw beginners."
DON JUAN.

The hour had come for the revels of the Piazza, and for the movement of
the gondolas. Maskers glided along the porticoes as usual; the song and
cry were heard anew, and Venice was again absorbed in delusive gaiety.

When Jacopo issued from the prison on the quay, he mingled with the
stream of human beings that was setting towards the squares, protected
from observation by the privileged mask. While crossing the lower bridge
of the canal of St. Mark, he lingered an instant, to throw a look at the
glazed gallery he had just quitted, and then moved forward with the
crowd--the image of the artless and confiding Gelsomina uppermost in his
thoughts. As he passed slowly along the gloomy arches of the Broglio,
his eye sought the person of Don Camillo Monforte. They met at the angle
of the little square, and exchanging secret signs, the Bravo moved on
unnoticed.

Hundreds of boats lay at the foot of the Piazzetta. Among these Jacop