“For whom am I destined?” demanded Violetta.

“No matter, since it be not for me.  Some trafficker in happiness, some worthless abuser of the gifts of fortune.”

“Thou knowest, Camillo, our Venetian custom, and must see that I am hopelessly in their hands.”

“Arise, Duke of St. Agata,” said the monk, with authority—­“when I suffered you to enter this palace, it was to remove a scandal from its gates, and to save you from your own rash disregard of the state’s displeasure.  It is idle to encourage hopes that the policy of the Republic opposes.  Arise then, and respect your pledges.”

“That shall be as this lady may decide.  Encourage me with but an approving look, fairest Violetta, and not Venice, with its Doge and inquisition, shall stir me an inch from thy feet!”

“Camillo!” answered the trembling girl, “thou, the preserver of my life, hast little need to kneel to me!”

“Duke of St. Agata—­daughter!”

“Nay, heed him not, generous Violetta.  He utters words of convention—­he speaks as all speak in age, when men’s tongues deny the feelings of their youth.  He is a Carmelite, and must feign this prudence.  He never knew the tyranny of the passions.  The dampness of his cell has chilled the ardor of the heart.  Had he been human, he would have loved; had he loved, he would never have worn a cowl.”

Father Anselmo receded a pace, like one pricked in conscience, and the paleness of his ascetic features took a deadly hue.  His lips moved as if he would have spoken, but the sounds were smothered by an oppression that denied him utterance.  The gentle Florinda saw his distress, and she endeavored to interpose between the impetuous youth and her charge.

“It may be as you say, Signor Monforte,” she said—­“and that the Senate, in its fatherly care, searches a partner worthy of an heiress of a house so illustrious and so endowed as that of Tiepolo.  But in this, what is there more than of wont?  Do not the nobles of all Italy seek their equals in condition and in the gifts of fortune, in order that their union may be fittingly assorted.  How know we that the estates of my young friend have not a value in the eye of the Duke of St. Agata as well as in those of him that the Senate may elect for thy husband?”

“Can this be true?” exclaimed Violetta.

“Believe it not; my errand in Venice is no secret.  I seek the restitution of lands and houses long withheld from my family, with the honors of the Senate that are justly mine.  All these do I joyfully abandon for the hope of thy favor.”

“Thou nearest, Florinda:  Don Camillo is not to be distrusted!”

“What are the Senate and the power of St. Mark that they should cross our lives with misery?  Be mine, lovely Violetta, and in the fastnesses of my own good Calabrian castle we will defy their vengeance and policy.  Their disappointment shall furnish merriment for my vassals, and our felicity shall make the happiness of thousands.  I affect no disrespect for the dignity of the councils, nor any indifference to that I lose, but to me art thou far more precious than the horned bonnet itself, with all its fancied influence and glory.”