"Not me, Piero; it was the child. He wished to give him flowers. I knew he must be great to care thus for our 'bimbo.' It was really he—the Veronese?"
"The child! Santa Maria! He is not too much like a cherub that the great painter should notice him!"
The baby threw out his little clenched fist, striking against the protecting arms that held him closer, his face drawn with sudden pain; for a moment he fought against Marina, and then, the spasm over, settled wearily to sleep in her arms.
"Poverino!" said the gondolier softly, while Marina crooned over him an
Ave Maria, and the gondola glided noiselessly to its cadence.
"Piero," she said, looking up with eyes full of tears, "sometimes I think I cannot bear it! He needs thy prayers as well as mine—wilt thou not ask our Lady of San Donato to be kinder to him? And I have seen to-day, on the Rialto, a beautiful lamp, with angels' heads. Thou shouldst make an offering——"
The gondolier shook his head and shrugged his shoulders; he had little faith or reverence. "I will say my aves, poveriello," he promised; "but the lamps are already too many in San Donato. And for the bambino, I will go not only once, but twice this year to confession—the laws of our traghetto ask not so much, since once is enough. But thou art even stricter with thy rules for me."
She did not answer, and they floated on in silence.
"To-morrow," said Piero at length, "there is festa in San Pietro di
Castello."
She moved uneasily, and her beautiful face lost its softness.
"It is nothing to me," she answered shortly.