There was no banquet hall in the palazzo Marcantonio Giustiniani, but it was not needed, for the two palaces were like one.

The Lady Laura was radiant.  If there had ever been a question of the place that Marcantonio’s bride should occupy in that patrician circle, the distinction conferred upon her by the Senate had sufficed to establish it.  There could be no jealousy of one who occupied the highest place, of one so gracious and equal to her honors, only of those who should win her favor.  So all came in the hope of it, and all were won; but there were no partialities, no intimacies; for all ambitions of the young and newly created patrician, the fullness of the home life sufficed to her.

Marina had grown more beautiful out of the joy of loving and the increased satisfaction of her religious life, to which she was more than ever devoted; her passion for beauty expressed itself by delight in sumptuous ceremonial, while her love of romance and her unquestioning faith were alike nourished on the legends of the saints which had become far more to her during her stay in Rome, where every hour had been happiness.  These three years of absence had made some subtle difference in the Lady Marina; there was more mystery about her with less reserve, and a certain calm acceptance of the position all conceded had given her courage to discuss religious history and opinions in a serious way that was quite charming to the older prelates who mingled in Venetian social circles, where simple earnestness of soul was a quality so rare that it might have been mistaken for a depth of subtlety; but the Lady Marina talked or listened only because the themes were of vital interest for her.  Besides, she had now her child to guide and she must know; and the learned men who gave their lives to the study of higher things were those, above all others, from whom she could learn the most; and with this unconscious flattery a little court, of a character somewhat unusual in Venice, had gathered in her salons.  Her husband, coming in late from the Council Chamber one evening, rallied her upon it, saying that her receptions might be mistaken for those of a lady abbess—­there were so many friars and grave ecclesiastics among her guests.  His light tone concealed a little uneasiness, for the friar’s warning had more than once recurred to him.

But it was impossible to convey anything to Marina by a half-concealed thrust, her nature was so essentially ingenuous, incapable of imagining intrigues of any sort.

“Yes, it is indeed an honor!” she answered, with her ready, trusting smile.  “It is good of them, they are so much more interesting than the others; and to-night the talk was quite delightful!  I would thou hadst been here, my Marco!  Life is so much more beautiful since we have been to Rome! Everything that was delightful came with our marriage,” she added, turning her radiant face toward him.