Slowly and very dimly she had helped the young wife to some vague comprehension of the duties she had so rashly assumed.  Hitherto, for Toinetta, there had been no difficulties, and now there were so many she was frightened and did not understand; now, when Piero scolded at her tears or temper she could not run away nor change him for a pleasanter companion, and she knew no other way to manage such a difficulty; and there was no pleasure in the Piazza because of that eternal critica.  There was triumph still in a canalazzo, for Piero was so handsome and so strong, and in the gondola, on the Canal Grande, one could not hear the talking—­besides, Venice was not Murano; but in the home the old friends came no more, and life was very sad—­quite other than it used to be!

Even her father, who traced the disgrace that had come upon his house to his over-indulgence, was now proportionately severe, and to his stern sense of honor the lawless son-in-law was a most unwelcome guest.  Through that slow year of Toinetta’s life Marina was the veritable angel in the house, not conscious of any self-sacrifice, but only of living intensely, making the living under the same roof possible for these two strong men who looked at life from such different standpoints, soothing the wounded pride of her father by her perfect sympathy while striving to rouse Piero to nobler ideals.

And now that it was all over—­was it all over?—­there lay the poor little Zuane; and Piero, over the water at his traghetto, was a great care.  But he should do his best yet for the people!

A deep voice with a ring of wistfulness came through the darkness: 

“Doth he not sleep yet, the little Zuane?  The evening hath been long, and I have somewhat to show thee.”

“I come, my father,” she answered very tenderly, as she followed him through the narrow, dark corridor, into a large chamber which served as a private office, but where the father and daughter often sat alone in the evening; for here Girolamo kept many designs and papers relating to his work, and they often discussed his plans together.

He unlocked an old carved cabinet and brought out a roll of parchments, spreading them upon the table and explaining:  “I could not leave them while I went to call thee, for it is an order from the Senate—­thou see’st the seal—­and a copy of the letter of the Ambassador of the Republic to the Levant, with this folded therein—­truly a curious scheme of color, but very rich, and the lines are somewhat uneven.  What thinkest thou of the design?”

“The outline is good,” she answered, after a careful scrutiny, for she had been trained in copying his best designs.  This was a pattern furnished by the grand vizier of the sultan for a mosque lamp of a peculiar shape, wrought over with verses from the Koran, in various colored enamels.  “The outline is well; but the colors—­mayst thou not change this yellow? there is too much of it.”