“How does he call his felucca, and what is the name of the padrone?”

“La Bella Sorrentina, commanded by a certain Stefano Milano, son of an ancient servant of Sant’ Agata.  The bark is none of the worst for speed, and it has some reputation for beauty.  It ought to be of happy fortune, too, for the good curato recommended it, with many a devout prayer, to the Virgin and to San Francesco.”

The noble appeared to lend more attention to the discourse, which, until now, on his part, had been commenced in the listless manner with which a superior encourages an indulged dependant.

“La Bella Sorrentina!  Have I not reason to know the bark?”

“Nothing more true, Signore.  Her padrone has relations at Sant’ Agata, as I have told your eccellenza, and his vessel has lain on the beach near the castle many a bleak winter.”

“What brings him to Venice?”

“That is what I would give my newest jacket of your eccellenza’s colors to know, Signore.  I have as little wish to inquire into other people’s affairs as any one, and I very well know that discretion is the chief virtue of a gondolier.  I ventured, however, a deadly hint concerning his errand, such as ancient neighborhood would warrant, but he was as cautious of his answers as if he were freighted with the confessions of fifty Christians.  Now, if your eccellenza should see fit to give me authority to question him in your name, the deuce is in’t if between respect for his lord, and good management, we could not draw something more than a false bill of lading from him.”

“Thou wilt take thy choice of my gondolas for the regatta, Gino,” observed the Duke of Sant’ Agata, entering the pavilion, and throwing himself on the glossy black leathern cushions, without adverting to the suggestion of his servant.

The gondola continued its noiseless course, with the sprite-like movement peculiar to that description of boat.  Gino, who, as superior over his fellow, stood perched on the little arched deck in the stern, pushed his oar with accustomed readiness and skill, now causing the light vessel to sheer to the right, and now to the left, as it glided among the multitude of craft, of all sizes and uses, which it met in its passage.  Palace after palace had been passed, and more than one of the principal canals, which diverged towards the different spectacles, or the other places of resort frequented by his master, was left behind, without Don Camillo giving any new direction.  At length the boat arrived opposite to a building which seemed to excite more than common expectation.  Giorgio worked his oar with a single hand, looking over his shoulder at Gino, and Gino permitted his blade fairly to trail on the water.  Both seemed to await new orders, manifesting something like that species of instinctive sympathy with him they served, which a long practised horse is apt to show when he draws near a gate that is seldom passed unvisited by his driver.