While thus occupied, a figure stole through the long
suite of ante-chambers, and stopped near the door of the room he
occupied. The intruder was aged; his face was tawny by exposure, and
his hair thinned and whitened by time. His dress was that of a
fisherman, being both scanty and of the meanest materials. Still there
was a naturally noble and frank intelligence in his bold eye and
prominent features, while the bare arms and naked legs exhibited a
muscle and proportion which proved that nature was rather at a stand
than in the decline. He had been many moments dangling his cap, in
habitual but unembarrassed respect, before his presence was observed.
"Ha! thou here, Antonio!" exclaimed the senator, when their eyes met.
"Why this visit?"
"Signore, my heart is heavy."
"Hath the calendar no saint--the fisherman no patron? I suppose the
sirocco hath been tossing the waters of the bay, and thy nets are empty.
Hold! thou art my foster-brother, and thou must not want."
The fisherman drew back with dignity, refusing the gift, simply, but
decidedly, by the act.
"Signore, we have lived from childhood to old age since we drew our milk
from the same breast; in all that time have you ever known me a beggar?"
"Thou art not wont to ask these boons, Antonio, it is true; but age
conquers our pride with our strength. If it be not sequins that thou
seekest, what would'st thou?"
"There are other wants than those of the body, Signore, and other
sufferings besides hunger.
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