“Nay,” said another speaker quickly, a friend to Morosini the historian—­for the Broglio had been known to have a voice as well as ears, and the subject was a dangerous one, not honorable to Venice—­“Nay, there are no Orseoli.  But it is for honor to the Giustiniani that none hath been chosen for the Serenissimo.  He is strong, grave, and very silent; but most wise in council, most prudent in resource.  He is needed among the Savii.”

“And the coronation oath hath grown over straight since the days of the Michieli,” responded Morosini.  “The Giustinian is not a man for our promissione which, verily, fitteth ill with the dignity of our Prince—­a man of spirit may well find it hard to assume the beretta under such restrictions!”

IX

With the nonchalance that concealed a skill all Venetian the gondoliers of the Giustiniani guided them gracefully through the floating craft moored to the stakes which rose in sheafs before their palace, announcing the colors of their noble house.  Barges bearing flowers and decorations for the fete, fruits and game, were unloading on the broad marble steps, and through the wrought open-work of the splendid gates a scene of activity was disclosed in the nearer court which served as an office for the various departments of the household; while the house-master had come down the steps from his cozy lodge beside the entrance, and stood dispensing orders to a group of eager domestics.

In the deep shadow of the entrance-court the open one, through which the light streamed radiantly, seemed far distant, and when the great bell sent clanging echoes from court to court, gondoliers in undress liveries, who were lazily lounging and chatting, sprang to a show of activity over all those finishing touches of polish and nicety which had been achieved long before; and the lithe figures coming and going, throwing themselves into graceful attitudes over their semblance of labor, exchanging joyous sallies in anticipation of the evening’s revelry, awoke a contagious merriment.  Marcantonio rallied from the heaviness of the morning and felt young again, as he yielded to their influence and wandered among them, tossing compliments and repartees with Venetian freedom.

In the midst of this harmless trifling the voice of Giustinian Giustiniani sounded sternly.

“Marcantonio, these ancient arms have been burnished in honor of this day; I have a moment to remind thee of their history—­if thou hast forgotten.”

He was calling from across the open court, where the sunshine seemed suddenly less, and Marcantonio hastened to respond.

The seneschal called for lights, for the workmanship of these heirlooms was too fine to be appreciated in the gloom which pervaded the far inner court; two or three iron lanterns were brought and hung up, and link-boys flashed flaring torches upon the pieces on the wall near which their master stood.