The Bravo | Page 9

Is the face of a man called Jacopo Frontoni known to thee?"
"Eccellenza!" exclaimed the gondolier, gasping for breath.
"I ask thee if thou knowest the countenance of one named Frontoni?"
"His countenance, Signore!"
"By what else would'st thou distinguish a man?"
"A man, Signor' Don Camillo!"
"Art thou mocking thy master, Gino? I have asked thee if thou art acquainted with the person of a certain Jacopo Frontoni, a dweller here in Venice?"
"Eccellenza, yes."
"He I mean has been long remarked by the misfortunes of his family; the father being now in exile on the Dalmatian coast, or elsewhere."
"Eccellenza, yes."
"There are many of the name of Frontoni, and it is important that thou should'st not mistake the man. Jacopo, of that family, is a youth of some five-and-twenty, of an active frame and melancholy visage, and of less vivacity of temperament than is wont, at his years."
"Eccellenza, yes."
"One who consorts but little with his fellows, and who is rather noted for the silence and industry with which he attends to his concerns, than for any of the usual pleasantries and trifling of men of his cast. A certain Jacopo Frontoni, that hath his abode somewhere near the arsenal?"
"Cospetto! Signor' Duca, the man is as well known to us gondoliers as the bridge of the Rialto! Your eccellenza has no need to trouble yourself to describe him."
Don Camillo Monforte was searching among the papers of a secretaire. He raised his eyes in some little amazement at the sally of his dependant, and then he quietly resumed his occupation.
"If thou knowest the man, it is enough."
"Eccellenza, yes. And what is your pleasure with this accursed Jacopo?"
The Duke of Sant' Agata seemed to recollect himself. He replaced the papers which had been deranged, and he closed the secretaire.
"Gino," he said, in a tone of confidence and amity, "thou wert born on my estates, though so long trained here to the oar in Venice, and thou hast passed thy life in my service."
"Eccellenza, yes."
"It is my desire that thou should'st end thy days where they began. I have had much confidence in thy discretion hitherto, and I have satisfaction in saying it has never failed thee, notwithstanding thou hast necessarily been a witness of some exploits of youth which might have drawn embarrassment on thy master were thy tongue less disposed to silence."
"Eccellenza, yes."
Don Camillo smiled; but the gleam of humor gave way to a look of grave and anxious thought.
"As thou knowest the person of him I have named, our affair is simple. Take this packet," he continued, placing a sealed letter of more than usual size into the hand of the gondolier, and drawing from his finger a signet ring, "with this token of thy authority. Within that arch of the Doge's palace which leads to the canal of San Marco, beneath the Bridge of Sighs, thou wilt find Jacopo. Give him the packet; and, should he demand it, withhold not the ring. Wait his bidding, and return with the answer."
Gino received this commission with profound respect, but with an awe he could not conceal. Habitual deference to his master appeared to struggle with deep distaste for the office he was required to perform; and there was even some manifestation of a more principled reluctance, in his hesitating yet humble manner. If Don Camillo noted the air and countenance of his menial at all, he effectually concealed it.
"At the arched passage of the palace, beneath the Bridge of Sighs," he coolly added; "and let thy arrival there be timed, as near as may be, to the first hour of the night."
"I would, Signore, that you had been pleased to command Giorgio and me to row you to Padua!"
"The way is long. Why this sudden wish to weary thyself?"
"Because there is no Doge's palace, nor any Bridge of Sighs, nor any dog of Jacopo Frontoni among the meadows."
"Thou hast little relish for this duty; but thou must know that what the master commands it is the duty of a faithful follower to perform. Thou wert born my vassal, Gino Monaldi; and though trained from boyhood in this occupation of a gondolier, thou art properly a being of my fiefs in Napoli."
"St. Gennaro make me grateful for the honor, Signore! But there is not a water-seller in the streets of Venice, nor a mariner on her canals, who does not wish this Jacopo anywhere but in the bosom of Abraham. He is the terror of every young lover, and of all the urgent creditors on the islands."
"Thou seest, silly babbler, there is one of the former, at least, who does not hold him in dread. Thou wilt seek him beneath the Bridge of Sighs, and, showing the signet, deliver the package according to my instructions."
"It is certain loss of character to be seen speaking with the miscreant! So lately as