“It is but a moment that I have for this dearest claim of the day,” said Marcantonio Giustiniani, turning to the older man with winning courtesy; “and sooner should I have come to the father of Marina to crave the grace I cannot do without, but that she bade me tarry.  Yet now—­she herself hath spoken?”

He looked from one to the other questioningly.

“There are no secrets between us,” Girolamo answered with dignity, while weighing some words that should welcome his daughter’s suitor with discretion and reserve.

But the maiden broke in timidly:  “And he is not angry, Marco mio!”

“Nay, my favor is for him who truly honors my daughter and proves himself worthy; for her happiness is dear to me.  But the difficulties are great, as she herself hath told me.”

“A little time and there shall be none!” cried Marcantonio, joyously.  “For to-day, when first I have taken my seat in the Council, not more solemnly have I sworn allegiance to the Republic than I would pray Messer Magagnati to bear me witness that Marina—­and none other—­will I wed!”

“Give him thy hand, my daughter, for thy face confesseth thee; and to-day his lady should grant him so much grace.”

“Yet, Marco—­for thy sake—­I make no vows to thee.  Only this will I tell thee,” she added, in a voice that was very soft and low, as he sealed his lover’s vow on her fluttering hand.  “For me, also, there is no other!”

“And I bring thee a ‘boccolo,’ Marina, since thou art of the people and wouldst have me remember all thy traditions,” he cried gaily.  “Yet this one hath a fragrance like none other that hath ever blossomed on the festa of San Marco—­my blessed patron!—­for I culled it from the garland which my mother bade her maidens for a token make about the table where thy portrait is displayed.”

He raised the rosebud to his lips before he placed it in her hand.

“And the Senator Giustinian Giustiniani?” Girolamo questioned, in his grave, deep voice, concealing his triumph.

But Marcantonio had already answered to the timid question of Marina’s eyes, with a ringing tone of assurance.

“And for my father—­we must have courage!”

XI

The summons from the Ten had been presented with ceremony on the night of the fete at Ca’ Giustiniani, and Marcantonio was grateful for the strong support of Paolo Cagliari’s friendly presence, as they went together to the Sala di Collegio in the Ducal Palace; for this seemed to the young noble an opportunity, that might never come again, of presenting his petition to ears not all unfavorable; and there was a thrill of triumph in the thought that his maiden speech before this august body should be his plea for Marina’s admission to the favor of the Signoria.  Already fortune had been kind to him beyond his hopes, and, with the daring of youth, he was resolved to claim the possible.  The Veronese alone knew of his intention, and as to his father—­he could only put him out of his thoughts.  If the Senate listened to his petition there would be no difficulties, but he would not weaken his courage by any previous contest, unavailing as it must be.