"Whatever favor he would have is already his:—he was the friend of Janus and my own," she answered in a tone of surprise that was almost indignant. And then, with a lingering on the words that was indescribably pathetic, she added:
"Janus hath written of him, 'Nostro caro, fedel a ben amato Sieur Mutio di Costanzo' (our dear, faithful and well-beloved seigneur) thou mayest read it in our 'Libro delle Rimembranze.' Could I do aught to add thereto?"
For answer he bowed his head, in tender reverence for her thought: for the loyalty with which she sought and treasured every token of nobility that had been chronicled of her husband—for the proud discretion with which she taught herself such utter silence on her wrongs—for the great love which, growing to a culte through those years of girlish dreams and of fair anticipation, had made this attitude possible for her,—who was all truth.
"His Excellency the Admiral is verily the champion of Cyprus," the Bernardini resumed after a little silence; "and methinks he would hold dear the royal order to re-man the galleys which have been disbanded—as it is now thought, by advice of the traitor Rizzo, or of some other Councillor in favor of Ferdinand of Naples. I would fain bring this matter for consideration before the Council, if it hath your Majesty's favor."
"It is well," she said, in a tone of perplexity, "if it seemeth so to the Council of the Realm. But our counsellors of Venice who brought us aid, spoke not of this."
She lifted her liquid dark eyes to his face, as she spoke—a girl of nineteen, bewildered with the intricate jealousies and strifes of her island kingdom—no wonder that she felt her hands weak to hold the sceptre so disputed!
"It may be that Venice hath not so closely at heart the interests of Cyprus as the Queen herself might hold them," he answered slowly and watching her as he spoke. "We must win the Cyprian nobles to our councils and consult their needs and bring them before the people as in the grace of your Majesty. Let us not always think the thoughts of Venice." She started and flushed slightly at his last words, but how could he help her else?—"We must do this to bind the hearts of the nobles to our Prince," he added, to give her courage.
"Let us not always think the thoughts of Venice!" The meaning was new to her, and for a few moments she struggled with it silently; then she lifted her eyes to his face and searched it artlessly, as a child might have done, to see if she had fully comprehended his strange speech—most strange from her Venetian Councillor.
But he met her gaze as frankly, having nothing to add to the simple statement wherewith he had sought to arouse this new consciousness within her, and which he wished her to ponder.
"Thou art more Cyprian, my cousin, than any member of the Council hath ever shown himself," she said at length, "and it heartens me—for thou art right. But now—just now—what may be done?" She spoke eagerly, as if from a new standpoint.