Gino had retired towards the arch of the water-gate, in expectation that the stranger would rejoin him within its shadows; but, to his great alarm, he saw the form darting through the outer portal of the palace into the square of St. Mark.  It was not a moment ere Gino, breathless with haste, was in chase.  On reaching the bright and gay scene of the piazza, which contrasted with the gloomy court he had just quitted like morning with night, he saw the utter fruitlessness of further pursuit.  Frightened at the loss of his master’s signet, however, the indiscreet but well intentioned gondolier rushed into the crowd, and tried in vain to select the delinquent from among a thousand masks.

“Harkee, Signore,” uttered the half-distracted gondolier to one, who, having first examined his person with distrust, evidently betrayed a wish to avoid him, “if thou hast sufficiently pleased thy finger with my master’s signet, the occasion offers to return it.”

“I know thee not,” returned a voice, in which Gino’s ear could detect no familiar sound.

“It may not be well to trifle with the displeasure of a noble as powerful as him, you know,” he whispered at the elbow of another, who had come under his suspicions.  “The signet, if thou pleasest, and the affair need go no further.”

“He who would meddle in it, with or without that gage, would do well to pause.”

The gondolier again turned away disappointed.

“The ring is not suited to thy masquerade, friend of mine,” he essayed with a third; “and it would be wise not to trouble the podesta about such a trifle.”

“Then name it not, lest he hear thee.”  The answer proved, like all the others, unsatisfactory and bootless.

Gino now ceased to question any; but he threaded the throng with an active and eager eye.  Fifty times was he tempted to speak, but as often did some difference in stature or dress, some laugh, or trifle uttered in levity, warn him of his mistake.  He penetrated to the very head of the piazza, and, returning by the opposite side, he found his way through the throng of the porticoes, looking into every coffee-house, and examining each figure that floated by, until he again issued into the piazzetta, without success.  A slight jerk at the elbow of his jacket arrested his steps, and he turned to look at the person who had detained him.  A female, attired like a contadina, addressed him in the feigned voice common to all.

“Whither so fast, and what hast thou lost in this merry crowd?  If a heart, ’twill be wise to use diligence, for many here may be willing to wear the jewel.”

“Corpo di Bacco!” exclaimed the disappointed gondolier; “any who find such a bauble of mine under foot, are welcome to their luck!  Hast thou seen a domino of a size like that of any other man, with a gait that might pass for the step of a senator, padre, or Jew, and a mask that looks as much like a thousand of these in the square as one side of the campanile is like the other?”