For suddenly the betrothal of this only son of an old patrician family had assumed almost the proportions of a State marriage; and a young fellow for whom time-honored observances of the realm could be set aside, and who had won so extreme a proof of favor by his own wit and grace, was surely a figure that might well occupy public attention.
But the decree would soon be a state paper; it was already an accepted fact in the halls of the Council and in the salons of the nobility, and the disappointed great ladies from the neighboring palaces were calling, with curious questions decorously dressed in congratulatory form.
"When should they have the pleasure of welcoming the new Lady of the
Giustiniani?"
"Was it not true that the Lady Marina—that was to be," there was always some little stinging emphasis in the gracious speech, "had given a votive offering to the convent of the Servi? She was a devote then—quite unworldly—this beautiful maiden of Murano?"
"What a joy for the Lady Laura that so soon there would be a bride in the Ca' Giustiniani!"
"The Lady Laura had never been more stately," they told each other when they entered their gondolas again, "nor more undisturbed. There were no signs of displeasure; it must be that the lowly maid was very beautiful."
"Was it a thing to make one sad, to have a son who could twist the
rulers round his little finger, and break the very laws of the Republic?
Nay, but cause for much stateliness!" said a matron with two sons in the
Consiglio.
"The bridal must be soon," said the Lady Laura to herself, as she sat alone in her boudoir, "for the ceasing of this endless gossip." And, because she could think of nothing else, she was already weary with the planning of a pageant which made her heart sick.
But Giustinian Giustiniani had no words, for the case was hopeless—only a face of gloom, and much that was imperative to keep him in the Council Chamber.
For these few blissful days the lovers had heaven to themselves, floating about at twilight on the shores of the Lido, where there were none to trouble the clear serenity of their joy by the chilling breath of criticism. "That white rose which I brought thee was in sign of my mother's favor," Marcantonio reminded Marina more than once; "and for the rest—all will be well; and for a little, we can wait."