his
departure, like one who had a half-formed resolution. He regarded the
countenance of the unconscious Carmelite intently, and in a manner that
denoted the habit of thinking much before he decided.

"Reverend Father," he said, "may I crave a moment of your time, for an
affair that concerns the soul of a sinner?"

Though amazed, the monk could not hesitate about answering such an
appeal. Obedient to a gesture of the officer, he followed him from the
apartment, and continued at his side while the other threaded the
magnificent rooms and descended to his gondola.

"You must be much honored of the Senate, holy monk," observed the latter
while they proceeded, "to hold so near a trust about the person of one
in whom the state takes so great an interest?"

"I feel it as such, my son. A life of peace and prayer should have made
me friends."

"Men like you, father, merit the esteem they crave. Are you long of
Venice?"

"Since the last conclave. I came into the Republic as confessor to the
late minister from Florence."

"An honorable trust. You have been with us then long enough to know that
the Republic never forgets a servitor, nor forgives an affront."

"'Tis an ancient state, and one whose influence still reaches far and
near."

"Have a care of the step. These marbles are treacherous to an uncertain
foot."

"Mine is too practised in the descent to be unsteady. I hope I do not
now descend these stairs for the last time?"

The minister of the council affected not to understand the question,
but he answered as if replying only to the previous observation.

"'Tis truly a venerable state," he said, "but a little tottering with
its years. All who love liberty, father, must mourn to see so glorious a
sway on the decline. _Sic transit gloria mundi!_ You bare-footed
Carmelites do well to mortify the flesh in youth, by which you escape
the pains of a decreasing power. One like you can have few wrongs of his
younger days to repair?"

"We are none of us without sin," returned the monk, crossing himself.
"He who would flatter his soul with being perfect lays the additional
weight of vanity on his life."

"Men of my occupation, holy Carmelite, have few opportunities of looking
into themselves, and I bless the hour that hath brought me into company
so godly. My gondola waits--will you enter?"

The monk regarded his companion in distrust, but knowing the uselessness
of resistance, he murmured a short prayer and complied