And the man on the bell tower of Torcello is as good as his word. Pushing aside the German field glasses with a scornful gesture, he thrusts his precious instrument upon the group. "Do you see, just above the horizon line, something white that seems to move in a burst of light? Half close your eyes, in order to see farther. By an uncommon piece of luck Giambolo is visible to-day. You cannot help seeing it. I can even see it with my naked eye. But of course I know where to look for it." The rigid German, ankylosed at his glass, suddenly straightens up. "Yes, yes, I saw it very well. It is all white, and there is something shining." "That is it," answers the man of Torcello, satisfied. Then everyone took his turn. The women all saw it at the very first glance; they even gave detailed descriptions of it. The student alone could not see Giambolo. He confessed it with genuine humiliation, and was looked upon with pitying disdain by all the others. "What is it like?" he asked of everyone. And everyone gave his own description. There was a slight vapour at the top. A streak at the right, said some, some said at the left; there was nothing of the kind, according to the _pater familias_ who had had the distinction of being the first to see Giambolo. The unfortunate student tried again and again, and went on exclaiming in despair: "I can see nothing! I can see nothing!" The Italian shrugged his shoulders with a placid smile, the meaning of which obviously was that some people had not the gift. "But," cried the exasperated youth, "what is Giambolo, will you tell me? Is there any such thing, really, as Giambolo?" A unanimous cry of horror went up at this blasphemy. How could one see a thing that did not exist? When half a dozen human beings have in good faith seen Giambolo and are willing to swear before God that they have, no further discussion is possible. "Then tell me what it is, since you have seen it." With a gesture the Italian checked all forthcoming answers. "Giambolo is Giambolo," he pronounced, with imposing solemnity. "One cannot, unless one is mad, argue about it. Only, it is not granted to everyone to see it." There was evidently on the bell tower of Torcello no one bereft of reason, for silence followed this speech, and no one seemed inclined to dispute a settled fact. Groaning under the weight of his shame, the unfortunate young man who had not seen Giambolo gave the signal for moving on, and the descent was made in the contented repose of mind that attends the happy accomplishment of an act above the common. On the lowest step, the good Torcellian reaped in his discreetly outstretched cap an abundant harvest of silver coins. It is hardly possible to be niggardly with those who have shown one Giambolo.