\"To-morrow,\" said Giustinian Giustiniani, as if in answer to his thoughts, \"at dawn of day, there will be Mass in the capello Giustiniani on Sant'''' Elenà; and later we must visit the shrines of San Nicolò and San Lorenzo. For in the Church also we have had our part. A Giustinian was first Patriarch of Venice; a saint was father to our else broken line—we have had our share in Church and State, and it behooves a member of the Consiglio to remember the honors of his house.\"
He stood for a moment looking up at the shield on which were blazoned the arms of the Giustiniani, as if he missed something that should have been there; then, slowly turning back to the central court, now flooded with sunshine, he began the ascent of the grand stairway which led to the banqueting hall. The gleaming marble panels bore a fretwork of sculptured foliage with symbols entwined—the mitre, the cross, the sword—in richest Renaissance; but in all the decorations of this lordly palace, of the most ancient of the Venetians, not once did the mighty Lion of St. Mark appear.
When they had reached the landing opening into the banquet hall the Senator, turning in the direction of his own apartments, released his son with a motion of his hand toward the great, splendid chamber from which issued ripples of girlish laughter; and Marcantonio stood for a few moments under the arches which opened into it, looking on unobserved, for here it seemed that the fête was already reigning.
The noble maidens who attended the Lady Laura, fresh and charming, were knotting loops of ribbon in pendant garlands or grouping flowers in great vases between the columns which crossed the chamber from end to end—darting up the stairway to the gallery to alter a festoon in garland or brocade. Sallies of laughter, snatches of song, and pelting of flowers, like a May-day frolic, made the work long in the doing, but full of grace; and now and again, as if any purpose were wearying for such light-hearted maidens, they dropped their garlands and glided over the polished floor, twining and untwining their arms—a reflex in active life, and not less radiant, of the nymphs of Bassano on the painted ceiling, between those wonderful, gilded arabesques of Sansovino.
There was a little shriek of discomfiture as they suddenly perceived the young lord of the day, but the Contessa Beata Tagliapietra came saucily toward him as he was escaping.
\"The Lady Laura hath charged me to ask the Signor Marcantonio whether the garlands be disposed according to his liking.\"
She swept him a mocking reverence, so full of grace and coquetry that the maidens all flocked back from their hiding-places to see how the young signor would receive it.
\"I know not which pleaseth me best,\" he answered lightly; \"the grace of the garlands, or the grace of the dance, or the grace of the damigelle who have so wrought for the beauty of this fête. Nay, I may not enter, for the Lady Laura will await my coming.\"
\"Is this day then so full of gravity that one may not steal a moment to dance at one''''s own fête, Signer Consiglière?\" she retorted, mockingly.
But the Lady Laura herself was coming toward them, with slow, stately steps, hiding her impatience—for the morning had seemed long.
At sight of her Marcantonio bent his knee with the knightly homage still in vogue, and gave his hand to conduct her to her boudoir.
\"Signer Consiglière,\"—she began, with a stately congratulation, when they were quite alone in her own boudoir; she had been planning, during the long morning, a speech that should be of a dignity to suit so great an occasion, but the words died away upon her lips; for once she forgot Venice and the Ca'''' Giustiniani, and the mother was uppermost. She folded her arms about him closely, and rested her head upon his shoulder in delicious abandon.
\"Marco, my boy!\" she murmured.
His heart overflowed to her in unaccustomed endearments, so rarely did she express any emotion, and to-day the rebound from the morning''''s repression filled him with hope and gladness. All fear of winning her aid was lifted. \" Madre mia !\" he cried, his face radiant with happiness.
\"This day is not as other days,\" she said, half in apology for her weakness, as she recovered herself.
\"I have a gift for thee, madre mia; let me bring it.\"
\"I need no gift, Marco; for now hast thou everything before thee—every honor that Venice may offer to a Venetian of the Venetians! Forget it not, my Marco.\"
But he had already flown from her, with impatient, lover''''s footsteps. \"Mother!\" he cried, with shining eyes, as he placed the costly case upon a table and drew her gently toward it.
She stood in mute astonishment before the faultless gift, this perfect bit of Beroviero crystal,—opalesque and lucent, reflecting hidden rainbow tints, enhanced by the golden traceries delicate and artistic—the beautiful young face framed in those sea-gems dear to the Venetian heart, each pearl a study of changing light.
\"There is none like it in Venice!\" she exclaimed; \"nor hath there ever been. Thou hast treated me like a queen, my Marco!\"
\"I wished it so,\" he answered impatiently, for he could not wait. \"And the face——\"
\"Never hath there been a more exquisite! It is the Titian''''s work?\"
\"Nay, of the Veronese; for the goblet is of mine own designing. And the master, for my sake, hath spent himself upon the face.\"
\"He will be here to-night, and we will thank him,\" she answered graciously. \"And for thee—thou hast excelled thyself.\"
But Marcantonio answered nothing to her praise; his eyes were fixed upon the miniature of the Veronese.
\"If Paolo Cagliari findeth none so beautiful among the noble damigelle who will grace thy fête to-night as this face which he hath painted, we will forgive him,\" she said playfully. \"But thee, Marco, we will not forgive. The time hath come when thou shouldst choose; thy father and I have spoken of this.\"
She came close to him and folded his hand caressingly. \"The Contessa \"Mother! I pray thee——\" Marcantonio interrupted.
\"Nay, Marco—to-day it is fitting; for thy wedding should follow soon upon this fête. Thou art no longer a boy, and Venice looks to us to help thee choose a fitting bride; for there is none other of this generation of thy name, and thou,—I will not hide it from thee since thou needest heartening,—thou wilt be a fortunate wooer with these maidens, or—or elsewhere. But my little Beata is charming——-\"