"He will be kind to thee," the mother said at length with conviction, yet with a sigh, as if dissatisfied.
Caterina meanwhile, in the simple straight blue robe of a young Venetian maiden, her dimpled throat encircled with the pearls that had been the ransom of a kingdom, stood turning her miniature from side to side, catching the sunlight on the jewels and the face, with the pleasure of a child in a new and splendid toy—for it was all beautiful together. "He is charming—charming, my King!" she repeated.
But a shadow had crept into her mother's eyes. "It is a face that an artist might paint for his pleasure," she said with hesitation, as if seeking expression for some vague fear that haunted her; "I pray that he may make thee happy, carina; that he may be good and—and—noble."
"'Noble!'" cried Marco Cornaro, scornfully; "what seekest more? Is Cyprus not enough for thy nobility? Is there another mother in Venice who doth not envy thee thy fortune! Go to thy tire-women and consult with them, for the Betrothal will be soon, by order of the Senate, and there is small time to waste in regrets that somewhat more to thy liking hath not befallen thee. See to it that the robing of Caterina be fit for that other kingdom thou wouldst, perchance, have chosen for her."
"If he be noble—truly noble," the Lady Fiorenza said with unwonted persistence—for something moved her to assert herself, "I ask no more."
But the Senator permitted her the questionable honor of unanswered speech, as he turned with a scowl and left her. For her word had rankled: since it was known, in the innermost circle of the Council and there discussed in strictest secrecy, that had Janus been born in Venice, the law would have excluded him from its Libro d'Oro, and no patrician father would have sought him for his daughter. But Cyprus lay far away beyond the sea which washed the borders of Venetia, and many of Oriental race had peopled its shores—the ideals of Venice might be no law for Cyprus.