Suddenly the gondola diverged from the centre of the passage, down which it rather floated than pulled, and shot into one of the least frequented canals of the city.  From this moment its movement became more rapid and regular, until it reached a quarter of the town inhabited by the lowest order of the Venetians.  Here it stopped by the side of a warehouse, and one of its crew ascended to a bridge.  The others threw themselves on the thwarts and seemed to repose.

He who quitted the boat threaded a few narrow but public alleys, such as are to be found in every part of that confined town, and knocked lightly at a window.  It was not long before the casement opened, and a female voice demanded the name of him without.

“It is I, Annina,” returned Gino, who was not an unfrequent applicant for admission at that private portal.  “Open the door, girl, for I have come on a matter of pressing haste.”

Annina complied, though not without making sure that her suitor was alone.

“Thou art come unseasonably, Gino,” said the wine-seller’s daughter; “I was about to go to St. Mark’s to breathe the evening air.  My father and brothers are already departed, and I only stay to make sure of the bolts.”

“Their gondola will hold a fourth?”

“They have gone by the footways.”

“And thou walkest the streets alone at this hour, Annina?”

“I know not thy right to question it, if I do,” returned the girl with spirit.  “San Theodore be praised, I am not yet the slave of a Neapolitan’s servitor!”

“The Neapolitan is a powerful noble, Annina, able and willing to keep his servitors in respect.”

“He will have need of all his interest—­but why hast thou come at this unseasonable hour?  Thy visits are never too welcome, Gino, and when I have other affairs they are disagreeable.”

Had the passion of the gondolier been very deep or very sensitive, this plain dealing might have given him a shock; but Gino appeared to take the repulse as coolly as it was given.

“I am used to thy caprices, Annina,” he said, throwing himself upon a bench like one determined to remain where he was.  “Some young patrician has kissed his hand to thee as thou hast crossed San Marco, or thy father has made a better day of it than common on the Lido; thy pride always mounts with thy father’s purse.”

“Diamine! to hear the fellow one would think he had my troth, and that he only waited in the sacristy for the candles to be lighted to receive my vows!  What art thou to me, Gino Tullini, that thou takest on thee these sudden airs?”

“And what art thou to me, Annina, that thou playest off these worn-out caprices on Don Camillo’s confidant?”

“Out upon thee, insolent!  I have no time to waste in idleness.”

“Thou art in much haste to-night, Annina.”

“To be rid of thee.  Now listen to what I say, Gino, and let every word go to thy heart, for they are the last thou wilt ever hear from me.  Thou servest a decayed noble, one who will shortly be chased in disgrace from the city, and with him will go all his idle servitors.  I choose to remain in the city of my birth.”