“Even sooner than thy hope,” she echoed, feeling dreary, though he was sitting with his arm around her, as if for a confidential talk.

But he was too happy to interpret her tone.

“The token!” he pleaded; “for Marina—­and thou wilt come to see how beautiful she is!”

She looked at him searchingly.  He did not mean to urge her; he seemed too happy to understand.

She rose and going slowly to her cabinet brought him her token—­a string of great Oriental pearls.

“These,” she said, sitting down beside her son and opening the case, “have I made ready for thy bride, since thou wert a little lad—­at one time one pearl, at another more, as I have found the rarest lustre.  Some of these, they say, have been hidden in Venice since the time of John of Constantinople, who left them for his ransom; it may be but a tale, yet they are rare in tint; and I have gleaned them, Marco, since thou wert a little lad, not knowing who should wear them—­not knowing, Marco——­”

She broke off suddenly, touching the gems wistfully, endearingly, with trembling, tapering fingers.

He laid his firm young hand upon hers lovingly.  “How good thou art, my mother; how good to think of thy boy through all these years!  But thy pearls are superb—­they will almost frighten Marina.  Later thou wilt give them to her.  Mother, dearest, let me take this rose which thou hast worn, with thy little word of love—­sweet mother——­”

“They are fit for a princess, Marco,” she said, still toying with the pearls, apparently unheeding his request; “I chose them with that thought—­since they are for thy bride.”

“And she will wear them worthily,” Marcantonio answered, flushing, “and like a queen, for none hath greater dignity, else could I not have chosen her—­I, who have learned a lady’s grace by thee, my mother!”

She drew him to her with sudden emotion, for these days had been very hard for her.  “My boy—­my boy!  Does she love thee well for all thy faith and devotion—­for all that we are yielding her?”

“Madre mia, thou shalt see, if thou wilt let me take thee to her!”

“I had not thought—­” she said, and stopped.  “Would she not come with thee?”

Marcantonio walked suddenly away to a window and stepped out on the balcony for a breath of air; he was beginning to comprehend the under side of his great joy, and it had come with a shock, on this very day which he had thought would have been filled with a rush of gladness.  He grasped the cool marble of the parapet and tried to reason with himself; he suddenly foresaw that many days of reasoning had entered into his life, and always he must be ready to meet them with cool wisdom, since enthusiasm was one-visioned.  It was like taking a vow against youth, but he himself had chosen it for his lot in life; his love was not less to him, but the sudden realization had come that it was hard to fight against the traditions of centuries.  Yet how bravely she, his mother, was trying to surrender her social creed for his happiness; it was not a little thing that he had asked of her, but it seemed to him that her soul had been nearer to her eyes than ever before during these days when she had been suffering.  At all costs these women—­his dearest in the world—­must love each other, must bless each other’s lives.