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
Beata Tagliapietra hath a wonderful charm; and there is the Lady
Agnesina Contarini—a face for a Titian!"
"Mother! I pray thee——" Marcantonio interrupted.