turned.

"How art thou called, child?" asked Donna Florinda, moving ahead of her
pupil and taking the discourse up, where in wonder the other had
permitted it to pause. "We are truly grateful for the readiness with
which thou threw open the gate for our admission, in a moment of such
alarm--How art thou called?"

"Gelsomina," answered the modest girl. "I am the keeper's only
child--and when I saw ladies of your honorable condition fleeing on the
quay, with the Dalmatians marching on one side, and a mob shouting on
the other, I bethought me that even a prison might be welcome."

"Thy goodness of heart did not mislead thee."

"Had I known it was a lady of the Tiepolo, I should have been even more
ready; for there are few of that great name now left to do us honor."

Violetta curtsied to the compliment, but she seemed uneasy that haste
and pride of rank had led her so indiscreetly to betray herself.

"Canst thou not lead us to some place less public?" she asked,
observing that her conductor had stopped in a public corridor to make
this explanation.

"Here you will be retired as in your own palaces, great ladies,"
answered Gelsomina, turning into a private passage, and leading the way
towards the rooms of her family, from a window of which she had first
witnessed the embarrassment of her guests. "None enter here, without
cause, but my father and myself; and my father is much occupied with his
charge."

"Hast thou no domestic?"

"None, lady. A prison-keeper's daughter should not be too proud to serve
herself."

"Thou sayest well. One of thy discretion, good Gelsomina, must know it
is not seemly for females of condition to be thrown within walls like
these, even by accident, and thou wilt do us much favor, by taking more
than common means to be certain that we are unseen. We give thee much
trouble, but it shall not go unrequited. Here is gold."

Gelsomina did not answer, but as she stood with her eyes cast to the
floor, the color stole to her cheeks, until her usually bloodless face
was in a soft glow.

"Nay, I have mistaken thy character!" said Donna Florinda, secreting the
sequins, and taking the unresisting hand of the silent girl. "If I have
pained thee by my indiscretion, attribute the offer to our dread of the
disgrace of being seen in this place."

The glow deepened, and the lips of the girl quivered.

"Is it then a disgrace to be innocently within these walls, lady?" she
asked, still with an averted