His voice broke on a long-drawn wailing chord. A little silence succeeded. Then, like one spent, he took up the belt and offered it to Beatrice.
'O Madonna!' he said, 'it is a denarius of the Cæsar that betrayed Love. Take back thy wages.'
She dragged down a spray of vine-leaves, and fanned herself furiously with it, making no other response.
'So! I am Judas!' cried Carlo; and began to bite his moustache, mouthing and glowering.
'Love!' he sputtered, 'love! Is there no love in nature? You talk of the human God, you——'
Beatrice broke in scornfully:—
'It is the world-wisdom of the monastery. He shall sing you love only by the Litany. His queen shall be a virgin immaculate, and her bosom a shrine for the white lambs of chastity to fold in. A fine proselyte for passion's understanding! I would not be so converted for all Palestine.'
Carlo laughed, with some fierce recovery to good-humour.
'Hearest her, Bernardo? Thou shalt not prevail there, unless by convincing that thou speak'st from experience.'
Bembo had sunk down upon the bench, where, resting languidly, he still fingered the strings of his lute. Now suddenly, steadfastly, he looked across at the girl, and began to sing again:—