Marcantonio’s face flushed with pleasure.  The friar was still regarding him with a gaze so penetrating, yet apparently so guiltless of intentional rudeness that it ceased to be an impertinence, and amused the young Venetian by its unconventionality.  “Is there anything it would please Fra Paolo to ask of me?” he inquired affably.

“If there are children—­” the friar pursued quite simply.

“Our little son was baptized in Saint Peter’s in Rome; he had sponsors among the cardinals and a private audience and benediction from his Holiness, Pope Clement,” the young nobleman replied, trying to repress a pleasurable sense of importance.  “It was a pleasure to the Lady Marina—­she is devoted to the Church, and his Holiness was always most gracious to her.”

“As was fitting for the lady of a Venetian representative, and due to Venice,” the elder Giustinian hastened to explain, “his late Holiness was ever courtly and a gracious diplomat.”

He had been aware from his little distance how the talk had turned, and he was alert to give it the coloring he liked best.  For while the young people were still in Rome, Signor Agostino Nani, watchful as an ambassador well might be of the interests of so princely a house, had confided to the “Illustrissimo Giustiniani,” in a private and friendly letter, that courtesies so unusual had been extended to this noble young Venetian lady—­so devoted to the Church, so gentle and unsuspicious, so incapable of counter-plotting—­that it would be wise to guard against undue influence by a too prolonged stay at the Roman court; and the honorable recall of the Secretary Giustiniani had soon thereafter been managed.

The friar’s face had grown stern, but he did not resume the conversation until the elder Giustinian had strolled away with his host.  Then he turned to Marcantonio, speaking earnestly.  “Simplicity is no match for subtlety,” he said, “and much favor hath been shown to her.  You will pardon me, Signore, not because you are young and I am old, but because the face of your lady hath moved me with a rare sense of unworldliness.  There should be no flattery in an act our Lord himself hath taught by his example, and an old man like Pope Clement might well bestow his blessing on your little child.  But the times are not free from danger; the home is best for the little ones—­do not send him from his mother to the schools.”

“He is but learning to speak,” the young man answered, smiling at the friar’s earnestness; “only his baby word for his mother’s name.”

“There are schools for the sons of noblemen in which he will forget it,” said the friar bitterly; “where they teach disloyalty to princes and unmake men to make machines—­and the mainspring is at Rome.  Gentle women are won to believe in them by the subtle polish of those who uphold them, and the marvelous learning by which their teachers fit themselves for office.  And among them are men noble of character and true of conscience—­but bound, soul and body, by their oath; the system of the Jesuit schools in Venice is for nothing else but the building up of their order—­at all costs of character or happiness.  Let her keep her little son, for her face seemed wise and tender; the favor which hath been shown her may have a meaning.”