"Thou sayest the truth. My visit to
this spot is indeed accidental, and thou could'st not have possibly
foreseen it. Why art thou here?"
"Why are these here?" demanded Jacopo, pointing to the graves at his
feet. "We are born, and we die--that much is known to us all; but the
when and the where are mysteries, until time reveals them."
"Thou art not a man to act without good motive. Though these Israelites
could not foresee their visit to the Lido, thine hath not been without
intention."
"I am here, Don Camillo Monforte, because my spirit hath need of room. I
want the air of the sea--the canals choke me--I can only breathe in
freedom on this bank of sand!"
"Thou hast another reason, Jacopo?"
"Aye, Signore--I loathe yon city of crimes!"
As the Bravo spoke, he shook his hand in the direction of the domes of
St. Mark, and the deep tones of his voice appeared to heave up from the
depths of his chest.
"This is extraordinary language for a----"
"Bravo; speak the word boldly, Signore--it is no stranger to my ears.
But even the stiletto of a Bravo is honorable, compared to that sword of
pretended justice which St. Mark wields! The commonest hireling of
Italy--he who will plant his dagger in the heart of his friend for two
sequins, is a man of open dealing, compared to the merciless treachery
of some in yonder town!"
"I understand thee, Jacopo; thou art, at length, proscribed.
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