“I tell thee, Lady Laura,” said her husband, coming nearer and speaking low, “we may well be proud.  All this trifling in art and knickknacks in which it hath pleased the boy to spend himself, like so many of his hose,[2] hath fluttered off from him like silken ribbons hanging harmless in the wind, and hath left him with a head quite clear of nonsense for the Senate’s work. That day”—­he had referred to it so often that it had become an acknowledged division of time—­“that day when he made his speech not one arose to answer him; for the cunning of it was so simple one listened, fearing naught, until the end was reached; and the words of it were so few that the end was a surprise; and, lo! the Counsellors were confounded by the weight of his demand, and the reason for the justice of it, and the wit of its presentation—­lying folded in a sentence scarce long enough for a preamble!  And the boy!  Holding himself like a prince and winning them all by his grace, as if he were a child!  Nay, but I do forget he is a man, wearing honors from his country!”

  [2] The young nobles were called “the gay company of the hose.”

“Giustinian, I fain would keep them here!”

“That is the woman’s side of it,” said the Chief of the Ten, easily dismissing her plea.  “But for Marcantonio the appointment is good.  When the late-returned Ambassador to His Most Christian Majesty did render his report before our Maggior Consiglio—­an oration diplomatic and of weight—­I noted many of our graver men with eyes observing Marcantonio closely, as they would mark how he weighed the speech of the old diplomatist.”

“And Marco?”

“He seemed not to take note of them.  Or it may be a grace that he hath, that he seemeth not to see; for he weareth the ’pensieri stretti e viso sciolto’[3] meet for a Venetian councillor—­age could not teach him better to guard his thought, but it would make the wearing of his careless face less easy.  Or it may be that his mind hath space for the speech only—­one knows not!  Save that all things come easily to him—­even the most beautiful bride in Venice, raised from the ranks of the people to suit his whim!”

  [3] Close-locked thoughts and open countenance.

“Giustinian!  She will be our daughter, and none need question her dignity and grace.”

“My Lady Laura, none knoweth better of her beauty and none so proud of her as I, who had thought to hide my head for the disgrace of it!  But the daring of this son of ours doth make me gay!  I am ready to give thee a compliment on thy bringing up, which often I had feared was over frivolous.  And now, he hath the Republic before him, where to choose.”

“Giustinian?”

She rested both hands on his shoulders and looked full in his eyes with the gravity of her question which was the dream of his life, and was often tacitly touched, when they conferred together in confidence.

“Ay,” he answered, “even that, the highest—­by favor of San Marco—­he may win.  For the grace of him maketh his head seem less.”