"Nay, Madre carissima; thou art still before all others with thy wayward son."
"Yet my wish for thee—of France—thou dost pass by," she interrupted eagerly.
"It is but for duty to the Casa Cornaro,—in which thou wouldst be last to see me fail, dear Lady of Venice!"
She laid her hand upon his arm as if she would constrain him.
"Tell me," she urged.
"Mother, when thy name and mine shall have been forgotten, one name of the Casa Cornaro shall stand out never to be lost—since Fortune doth weave it into history. For honor to our house, we will not fail our Caterina."
"And thou?"
"As thou wouldst have me—thou, my Mother—than whom among the Cornari are none found prouder—I have sworn as solemnly as any knight may take his vow,—were it even in Crusade—to spend myself in service of the little Queen, my cousin—as in that far land there may be need."
But for the Lady of the Bernardini—Venetian to her heart's core—the island of Cyprus had little charm; she had dreamed of a brilliant career for her only son which should open to him the best that Venice could give—and she was not satisfied.
"There is no fault with that dear child," she said; "and as thy bride—if this had been—I could have loved her well. But if thy fortunes need be bound with hers—and all thine honors for which thou art so meet, and with which thy Venice would fain endow thee, must be surrendered for her sake,—'twere pity that this marriage which thy Father willed, went not forward."