As he drearily paced the stately chambers—­so empty without Marina—­what would he not have given to hear her voice again repeat those eager questions he had been so willing to repress!  How could it ever have vexed him that she should wish to understand the question that was occupying Venice!  But now he remembered having grown less and less patient with her as she had returned to this theme, until, in self-defense, she had said with gentle dignity, yet half-surprised at his irritation: 

“Marco, have a little patience with me.  Remember that our young nobles are trained in knowledge of these laws of Venice from quite early boyhood.”

“It is part training, if thou wilt,” he had answered lightly; “or in these questions women are stupid—­I know not.  But these matters concern them not.”  And after that, he remembered now with shame, she had troubled him no more, and he had felt it a relief; for during the few discussions they had had together he had been aware that they approached the question from a radically different point of view.  He had never taken the trouble to comprehend her ground nor to give her reasons for his own; he had simply made assertions, with a sense of irritation that any repetition should be called for in a matter quite out of a woman’s province; for the women of Venice had no part in that salon influence on politics which was ascribed to their sisters of France, and her attempts to gain understanding for a personal judgment had chafed him like an interference in his own special field.  He, with his subtly trained intellect and legal knowledge, could so easily have convinced her, he told himself remorsefully; but he had not taken the trouble even to look through her lens, while she had been so eager to understand his point of view—­and only that she might reach the truth!

Now he had much time to understand it all!  He recalled a strange, hurt look when her questions had ceased, but it had not troubled him then; she would forget it,—­would understand that he preferred to talk about other things,—­he had said to himself, and he had been careful in gracious little ways to show her that he was not displeased.  And she had been wise and had vexed him no more; there had been no arguments on this or any other theme.  And then the days of strain had come and the labors of the Council had absorbed him.  Now he saw that she had been too proud and strong to subject herself to repeated insinuations of inferiority of understanding, as she had been too loving and dutiful to prolong the contest.  And so—­he groaned aloud as his mistake revealed itself to him in those long, unhappy hours—­he had lost the dear opportunity of leading her aright; for he contemplated but one possible issue of such an attempt on his part; he had scorned her entreaty when she came to him for understanding of a mystery that was killing her, and he had driven her to take up the study alone, with the help of her father confessor, who knew but one side of the vexed question, and that not the side of Venice!