After a moment's silence, Caterina spoke playfully, to recall him to his theme. "Was it for this fervent vow of loyalty that thou didst crave my grace?"
His face deepened to a seriousness that was almost compassionate.
"Thou knowest that I would fain help thee: thy people would verily spend themselves for thee—thou hast won their hearts. But, among the ancient nobles—it were wise to tell thee frankly—there is some discontent."
"Is it new matter?" she asked, frowning a little. She had motioned him to a seat, for she saw that he had much to say.
"It hath been spoken of before, but since—since the treachery of the Council and—other things—and the most unbounded confidence by the Signoria reposed in me to uphold the Queen—I have sought more nearly to sift the causes of this disaffection. They seem to me to be not beyond conciliation."
"'Not beyond conciliation,'" she echoed, "it seems to thee! It is a sad word to bring me of my people, Aluisi, since I would give my life for them." Her eyes had filled with tears.
"It is sad, beloved Lady: but nothing is hopeless that is not finished. Is it not better to see wisely than to ignore?—Let us be brave."
She folded her hands very tightly for a moment, as if struggling with herself; then she lifted her eyes to his.
"Teach me," she said. "What wouldst thou?—Thou shalt verily be made one of the Counts of the Chamber, that I may know one loyal among my Cyprian nobles."
"Nay, nay"—he made an effort to assume a lighter tone—"there is no need; else would it be wise to sail for Venice with the fleet of the Mocenigo! But, pardon me, fair Cousin; there is no need to bind my loyalty with Cyprian titles and Cyprian lands. Let the Sovereign of Cyprus seek her own nobles for such favors."