XXXV
With the removal of the Court to Nikosia days of peace and sunshine had at last dawned for the distracted island kingdom—whether compassed by the wisdom of the astute and vigilant counsellors who sat close under the ear of the youthful Queen—by the superior force of the Venetian galleys, or by the winning charm of the Queen herself. The echoes of conspiracy had been stilled and the cities of Cyprus were taking new pride in their commerce, while they were growing richer in measures of philanthropy and education and that blossoming of arts and culture which only may adorn a court at leisure from petty wars and intrigues.
Early in these days of quiet Caterina had turned once more to her cousin the Bernardini, bidding him ask some favor at her hand—"For verily I owe thee more than I may repay."
"There could be never a debt between us, my cousin," he answered smiling: then with the ceremonious bow of a courtier, he added, with a singular mixture of gravity and playfulness: "I would remind your Majesty of a function of this Court which it hath never pleased my fair cousin to exercise. There is one among the maids of honor—most rare and noble—bounden by special vows of fealty, as a Dama di Maridaggio, to marry at the command of her Sovereign."
He stood before her quite unabashed and smiling, while she scanned him in surprise.
"Margherita de Iblin?" she questioned, half unbelieving.
"Margherita!" he answered, radiantly; "there is no other."