The monk regarded the prince earnestly, as if he would make certain whether the surprise he witnessed was not a piece of consummate acting. He felt convinced that the affair was one of that class of acts, which, however oppressive, unjust, and destructive of personal happiness, had not sufficient importance to come before them, who govern under systems which care more for their own preservation than for the good of the ruled. "Signor Doge," he said, "the state is discreet in matters that touch its own reputation. There are reasons that I shall not presume to examine, why the cell of poor Francesco was kept closed, long after the death and confession of his accuser left his innocence beyond dispute." The prince mused, and then he bethought him to consult the countenance of his companion. The marble of the pilaster, against which he leaned, was not more cold and unmoved than the face of the inquisitor. The man had learned to smother every natural impulse in the assumed and factitious duties of his office. "And what has this case of Francesco to do with the execution of the Bravo?" demanded the Doge, after a pause, in which he had in vain struggled to assume the indifference of his counsellor. "That I shall leave this prison-keeper's daughter to explain. Stand forth, child, and relate what you know, remembering, if you speak before the Prince of Venice, that you also speak before the King of Heaven!" Gelsomina trembled, for one of her habits, however supported by her motives, could not overcome a nature so retiring without a struggle. But faithful to her promise, and sustained by her affection for the condemned, she advanced a step, and stood no longer concealed by the robes of the Carmelite. "Thou art the daughter of the prison-keeper?" asked the prince mildly, though surprise was strongly painted in his eye. "Highness, we are poor, and we are unfortunate: we serve the state for bread." "Ye serve a noble master, child. Dost thou know aught of this Bravo?" "Dread sovereign, they that call him thus know not his heart! One more true to his friends, more faithful to his word, or more suppliant with the saints, than Jacopo Frontoni, is not in Venice!" "This is a character which art might appropriate, even to a bravo. But we waste the moments. What have these Frontoni in common?" "Highness, they are father and son. When Jacopo came to be of an age to understand the misfortunes of his family, he wearied the senators with applications in his father's behalf, until they commanded the door of the cell to be secretly opened to a child so pious. I well know, great prince, that they who rule cannot have all-seeing eyes, else could this wrong never have happened. But Francesco wasted years in cells, chill and damp in winter, and scorching in summer, before the falsehood of the accusation was known. Then, as some relief to sufferings so little merited, Jacopo was admitted." "With what object, girl?"