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.
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