“I am he.”
“It is well. You will please accompany me.”
“That is impossible. I am about to sail for Trieste. We are on our way to the vessel.”
“You must return. I have an order for your arrest.” And he exhibited an order, signed by the proper authorities, and made out in due form, for the arrest of Antonio Tamburini.
The lady uttered a half shriek, and clung to her husband.
“Here is some mistake, signor. I am the singer Tamburini. I have never interfered in politics; I have nothing to do with the government. I am but a chance passenger through Venice.”
“My orders are positive,” said the officer, with some appearance of impatience. “Make way there;” and while his armed attendants moved so as to allow seats for the prisoners, he offered his hand to the lady to assist her into the other boat.
Our hero was sufficiently vexed at this unexpected delay, but saw that it was inevitable. Offering his arm to his wife, he helped her to change her place, and gave directions for the transfer of his luggage. In a few minutes they were retracing their course across the lagune.
Not a word was spoken by any of the party, except that once the officer inquired if the lady’s seat was commodious. Notwithstanding the silence, however, his manner and that of his men was respectful in the highest degree; and this circumstance somewhat encouraged the hopes of his prisoners that their unpleasant detention might be followed by no serious misfortune. But who could penetrate the mysteries of governmental policy, or the involutions of its suspicion?
Thus it was not without misgiving that Tamburini entered Venice on his compulsory return; and these apprehensions were strengthened when he saw it was not the intention of his guards to conduct him to his late residence. They passed the Palazzo di ——; the arcades of San Marco. They were not far from the ancient ducal palace. Thoughts of a prison, of secret denunciations, of unknown accusers, of trial and sentence, were busy in Antonio’s brain, and caused him to move uneasily. As for the lady, she was pale as death, and hardly able to support herself upright. The more inexplicable seemed the danger the greater was her dread. Once she leaned towards her husband and whispered, in a touching tone of distress—“My mother—how will she feel when she knows what has befallen us!”