"We surged back against the doorway of the 'Nave d'Oro,' the people struggling with each other lest they should lose the sight as he passed through the Piazza, and suddenly there came a voice,—cold, and scornful, and low, but no man lost the words,—'Thou art wearied in the multitude of thy counsels. Let now the astrologers, the star-gazers, the monthly prognosticators stand up and save thee from these things that shall come upon thee!' The people stopped their pushing and looked aghast to see who spake, but I could have sworn it was Fra Paolo's voice. I caught a glimpse of him standing quietly just inside the 'Nave d'Oro,' while the other signori who go there to ridotto were out in the Merceria to see the show; and I made haste away lest the crowd should object to my habit for being like Fra Paolo's—they were so crazy for Bragadin, following in the footsteps of the Signoria, like good Venetians!"
"Who told the saying to the Signoria, when it might have crushed Fra
Paolo?" Fra Giulio questioned jealously.
"It may well have been his Excellency the Signor Donato, who was of the Council in those days, but a man too strong to have a mind to the folly of the others, and who walked about the chamber giving sign of much displeasure while Bragadin made his gold. And the next day Fra Paolo is commanded before the Signoria to meet the Provveditor of the Mint—being the only man who hath dared speak his mind before the Signoria had proved the worthlessness of Bragadin's promise. And our fine gold-maker exchangeth his palace for a prison; for the test of the crucible is all too easy for Fra Paolo, who speaketh naught that he knoweth not."
"Santa Maria! here cometh the 'bride,'" some one exclaimed warningly; for none of Fra Paolo's friends had the courage for frivolity in his grave presence, harmless as it might appear in his absence, and this watchword was often heard in the cloister as he approached.
He was conversing earnestly with his secretary, Fra Fulgenzio, evidently on business of the Senate, having remained in the convent all day, contrary to his usual custom; Fra Fulgenzio had been to and fro with messages, and once had returned from the Ducal Palace escorting several grave personages who had gone to Fra Paolo's cell for some conference, which gave rise to pleasant comment in the convent—since the Serenissimo could not dispense with the personal service of its Consultore for a single day, and every honor shown to Fra Paolo was dear to the hearts of the Servi.
Fra Paolo paused only for a moment as he passed the group to exchange a greeting, but his keen, quiet glance took in every expression, from the affectionate smile of old Fra Giulio to the jealous discontent of Fra Antonio, whose gaze drooped before him while he hastened to give the accustomed sign of reverence due to one so high in authority.
Fra Paolo considered him seriously for a moment before resuming his stroll. "Fra Antonio," he said, in his passionless voice, "the head of the Roman Chapter hath made inquiry for thee, and knew naught of thy presence here. Thou wilt soon be recalled. That thou doest—do quickly."
A sudden pallor overspread the features of Fra Antonio, who staggered and would have fallen, as he made an effort to steal away unobserved, had not the others come to his assistance.
"What is thy sudden ailment?" one of them asked him roughly, for he was no favorite.
But before the trembling friar could steady his voice or choose his words he was forgotten, for the evening bells began to chime for vespers, and as the brothers came flocking through the cloisters the great bell at the entrance gate on the Fondamenta dei Servi sent back the special deep-toned call, which took precedence of every order within the convent. Those who had already reached the chapel streamed back in wild confusion to answer the summons which filled the court with clanging echoes, while the silvery notes of the chapel chimes sounded faintly in the pauses of the deeper reverberations—like the voice of a timid child crying to be comforted when it does not understand.