An hour had passed.
I got back to the landing just as Gian came down to his boat. I
approached him and explained that I was a poor worker in the glass-
factory, who had to work all day and half the night, and as I lived
over in the city and my wife was dying, I must get home. Would he
allow me to ride with His Highness? "Certainly--with pleasure, with
pleasure!" he answered, and then pulling something from under his
sash he said, "Is this your cap, signor?" I took my cap, but my
tongue was paralyzed for the moment so I could not thank him.
We stepped into the boat, and as my offer to row was declined, I
just threw myself down by the hunchback, and the prow swung around
and headed toward the city.
The wind had died down, the rain had ceased, and from between the
blue-black clouds the moon shone out. Gian rowed with a strong, fine
stroke, singing a "Te Deum Laudamus" softly to himself the while. I
lay there and wept, thinking of my boat, my all, my precious boat!
We reached the landing--and there was my boat, safely tied up, not a
cushion or a cord missing. Gian Bellini? He may be a rogue as
Pascale says--God knows! How can I tell--I am only a poor gondolier.