It has been seen that Jacopo could not
read, for that was an age when men of his class were studiously kept in
ignorance. He turned to the first passenger who had the appearance of
being likely to satisfy his wishes, and desired him to do the office of
interpreter.
He had addressed an honest shop-keeper of a distant quarter. The man
took the scroll, and good-naturedly commenced reading its contents
aloud. "I am called away, and cannot meet thee, Jacopo!" At the name of
Jacopo, the tradesman dropped the paper and fled.
The Bravo walked slowly back again towards the quay, ruminating on the
awkward accident which had crossed his plans; his elbow was touched, and
a masker confronted him when he turned.
"Thou art Jacopo Frontoni?" said the stranger.
"None else."
"Thou hast a hand to serve an employer faithfully?"
"I keep my faith."
"'Tis well, thou wilt find a hundred sequins in this sack."
"Whose life is set against this gold?" asked Jacopo, in an under tone.
"Don Camillo Monforte."
"Don Camillo Monforte!"
"The same; dost thou know the rich noble!"
"You have well described him, Signore. He would pay his barber this for
letting blood."
"Do thy job thoroughly, and the price shall be doubled."
"I want the security of a name. I know you not, Signore."
The stranger looked cautiously around him, and raising his mask for an
instant, he showed the countenance of Giacomo Gradenigo.
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