He smiled, too, quite disarmed by her beauty and candor, and a little amused that this life of a Venetian princess should be so lightly included in this “everything” which marriage had brought to this maiden of Murano; but he could not help thinking how easily she wore her honors, and how she graced them; all Venice was at her feet, and she preferred the dull talk of a few ecclesiastics to the vivacious gallantry of the brilliant young nobles who thronged her salons—­the more anxious to please this queen of the day, that their efforts won only the dignified and gracious, yet reserved, recognition that was extended to all her guests alike.  She was the very reverse of Venetian in character and manner, but since she had been so honored by the Republic that difference was recognized as her distinction and charm.

“I doubt not,” Marcantonio said, laughingly, “that if nuns might take part in our social functions thou wouldst prefer them also to thine own maidens and all the noble ladies of the Canal Grande.  But who held part in this interesting ridotto to-night?”

“Truly, Marco, I think some day perchance I may get a dispensation and have all the nuns of San Donate for baby’s festa in the oratory—­would it not be beautiful to hear them chanting in our own palazzo!  But that is only a dream; I know not if it may ever be.”

She came toward him, in her shimmering festal robes, with the unconscious, happy grace of a child, dropping into a low seat close beside him, leaning back and letting her hands fall in an attitude of complete repose, while she gave him, without effort, the detail of the evening’s talk.  He was a little surprised at the way in which she made this graphic recital of a discussion he would have supposed beyond her comprehension—­or at least beyond her concern—­and he was not wholly pleased.  He had quite forgotten that one of the charms of Marina upon which he had insisted in the days when he had made much of this maiden to his patrician mother was that in capacity for thought and in force of character she was far above the maidens of ancient lineage, from whom the Lady Laura would have had him choose his bride.

Marina had named, among others, Fra Francesco, her own spiritual director, a Servite friar of gentle and winning demeanor, who was much beloved both in his convent and in other circles where his duties called him.  He was a man of simple habits and the most exemplary life, whose whole force lay in his extreme devotion to duty and his passionate love for the Church; his sole anxiety was for her glory, and he would have been supremely happy in the life he had chosen, were it not for his growing anxiety lest from her own sons she should receive dishonor.  He was always a welcome visitor at the palazzo Giustiniani, and already the little prince of the household had a special smile for him.

“Ah, Fra Francesco, of course!” said Marcantonio, in an indulgent tone; “our own friars and ecclesiastics are welcome.  But, carina, these foreign priests are often of a different way of thinking; and Don Fernanzo Lillo, that fluent Spaniard—­verily I would have thee don thy most freezing dignity when he comes again.”