"Thou hearest--His Highness, who is the voice of a mighty state, says
thou mayest remain;--though thou art still advised to withdraw."
"I will then see what virtue is left in this naked arm," returned
Antonio, casting a mournful glance, and one that was not entirely free
from the latent vanity of man, at his meagre and threadbare attire. "The
limb hath its scars, but the infidels may have spared enough, for the
little I ask."
"In whom is thy faith?"
"Blessed St. Anthony, of the Miraculous Draught."
"Take thy place.--Ha! here cometh one unwilling to be known! How now!
who appears with so false a face?"
"Call me, Mask."
"So neat and just a leg and arm need not have hid their follow, the
countenance. Is it your Highness's pleasure that one disguised should be
entered for the sports?"
"Doubt it not. A mask is sacred in Venice. It is the glory of our
excellent and wise laws, that he who seeketh to dwell within the privacy
of his own thoughts, and to keep aloof from curiosity by shadowing his
features, rangeth our streets and canals as if he dwelt in the security
of his own abode. Such are the high privileges of liberty, and such it
is to be a citizen of a generous, a magnanimous, and a free state."
A thousand bowed in approbation of the sentiment, and a rumor passed
from mouth to mouth that a young noble was about to try his strength in
the regatta, in compliment to some wayward beauty.
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