Resistance was impossible.

“Messer Gastaldo,” said the secretary suavely, “it hath pleased those who have ever the welfare of Venice at heart to provide for the most noble Lady of the Giustiniani an escort which better fitteth her rank than the size of thy barchetta permitteth, and a dwelling more honorable than the ‘Osteria del Buon Pesce,’ where, in company of the Lady Beata Tagliapietra, she hath passed the night.”

The secretary paused and placidly noted the effect of his words upon Piero, who could have gnashed his teeth for anger at those talking walls of Venice which had betrayed him—­so cautiously had he told his secret to the Lady Beata only, in that short moonlight stroll!

At a sign from the secretary a second gondola, wearing the ducal livery and filled with the gorgeous costumes of the palace guards, came out from the floating mass and approached the gondola of the people, where the Lady Marina sat trembling like a frightened fawn.

There was a struggle among the lesser craft to draw closer to this dramatic centre; they jostled each other unceremoniously; a splash, like a falling oar, was heard, but scarce noted in the absorbing interest of the moment; only a bare-legged boy jumped off from a tiny fishing-skiff near which the oar had floated, and swam with it to to the gondola from which it had fallen—­since it was this boat which was making the carnival for them!  Piero, alone, had slightly turned his head and noted that no one now stood on the ponte piede behind the felze of his gondola.

“The galley waits to receive the noble ladies to whom I am commissioned by those who have sent me to offer my respectful homage,” said the secretary, bowing low before the felze.  “The noble ladies will proceed thither in the ducal gondola which attends them.  And thou, Messer Gastaldo, wilt graciously aid me in their escort—­since, verily, they owe much to thy chivalry.”

It was a pleasant scene for the onlookers.

But the Lady Marina sat motionless, and gave neither word nor sign in response to the invitation of the ducal secretary.

“Shall the pleasure of the lady of this noble house not be consulted?” Piero questioned, struggling to cover his defiance under a tone of deference.

But his answer was only in the secretary’s eyes,—­smiling, imperious,—­more defiant than his own impotent will; and in the courtly waiting attitude, which had not changed, and which seemed unbearably to lengthen out the passing seconds.

The Lady Beata, winding compassionate arms around her friend, had raised her veil, whispering words of tenderness.

But there was no recognition in the glance that met hers—­only the immeasurable pathos of a hopeless surrender; the fervent passion of Marina’s will and faith had made all things seem possible of achievement, though Venice was against her, for had not the mission been given her in a vision by the Holy Madonna of San Donato—­Mother of Sorrows—­and was not the issue sure?  And yielding all thought of self she had braced every faculty to accomplish the holy task of which she alone felt the urgency.  But the overtaxed heart and brain could endure no longer thwarting; their activity and unquestioning purpose had been her only power; and the moment she ceased to struggle will and reason fled together.