y around her. "As we can neither change
nor mend the practices of the state, better that we should be silent."

"If we cannot alter the power of the council, we may elude it," hastily
answered Don Camillo, though he too dropped his voice, and assured
himself of their security by closing the casement, and casting his eyes
towards the different doors of the room. "Are you assured of the
fidelity of the menials, Donna Florinda?"

"Far from it, Signore; we have those who are of ancient service and of
tried character; but we have those who are named by the Senator
Gradenigo, and who are doubtless no other than the agents of the State."

"In this manner do they pry into the privacy of all! I am compelled to
entertain in my palace varlets that I know to be their hirelings; and
yet do I find it better to seem unconscious of their views, lest they
environ me in a manner that I cannot even suspect. Think you, father,
that my presence here hath escaped the spies?"

"It would be to hazard much were we to rely on such security. None saw
us enter, as I think, for we used the secret gate and the more private
entrance; but who is certain of being unobserved when every fifth eye is
that of a mercenary?"

The terrified Violetta laid her hand on the arm of her lover.

"Even now, Camillo," she said, "thou mayest be observed, and secretly
devoted to punishment!"

"If seen, doubt it not: St. Mark will never pardon so bold an
interference with his pleasure. And yet, sweetest Violetta, to gain thy
favor this risk is nothing; nor will a far greater hazard turn me from
my purpose."

"These inexperienced and confiding spirits have taken advantage of my
absence to communicate more freely than was discreet," said the
Carmelite, in the manner of one who foresaw the answer.

"Father, nature is too strong for the weak preventives of prudence."

The brow of the monk became clouded. His companions watched the workings
of his mind, as they appeared in a countenance that in common was so
benevolent, though always sad. For a few moments none broke the silence.

The Carmelite at length demanded, raising his troubled look to the
countenance of Don Camillo,--

"Hast thou duly reflected on the consequences of this rashness, son?
What dost thou purpose in thus braving the anger of the Republic, and in
setting at defiance her arts, her secret means of intelligence, and her
terrors?"

"Father, I have reflected as all of my years reflect, when in he