Marietta heard the voice without listening to the words, and the gentle, half-complaining, half-reproving tone was rather soothing than otherwise.  She sat by the half-closed window with her bead work, while Nella talked, and brushed, and moved about the room, making imaginary small tasks in order to talk the more.  But Marietta threaded the red and blue beads and fastened them in patterns upon the piece of stuff she was ornamenting, and when Nella looked at her every now and then, she seemed quite calm and indifferent.  There had always been something inscrutable about her.

She was wondering why she had submitted to be betrothed to Contarini, when she loved Zorzi; and the answer did not come.  She could not understand why it was that although she loved Zorzi with all her heart she had been convinced that she hated him, during four long, miserable days.  Then, too, it was very strange that she should feel happy, that she should know that she was really happy, her heart brimming over with sunshine and joy, while Zorzi, whom she loved, was lying on that uncomfortable bench in dreadful pain.  It was true that when she thought of his wound, the pain ran through her own limbs and made her move in her seat.  But the next moment she was perfectly happy again, and yet was displeased with herself for it, as if it were not quite right.

Nella stood still at last, close to her, and spoke to her so directly that she could not help hearing.

“My little lady,” said the woman, “do not forget that the women are coming early to-morrow morning to show you the stuffs which your father has chosen for your wedding gown.”

“Yes.  I remember.”

Marietta laid down her work in the little basket of beads and looked away towards the window.  Between the shutters she could just see one of the scarlet flowers of the sweet geranium, waving in the sunlight.  It was true.  The women were coming in the morning to begin the work.  They would measure her, and cut out patterns in buckram and fit them on her, making her stand a long time.  They would spread out silks and satins on the bed and on the table, they would hold them up and make long draperies with them, and make the light flash in the deep folds, and they would tell her how beautiful she would be as a bride, and that her skin was whiter than lilies and milk and snow, and her hair finer than silk and richer than ropes of spun red gold.  While they were saying those things she would look very grave and indifferent, and nothing they could show her would make her open her eyes wide; but her heart would laugh long and sweetly, for she should be infinitely happy, though no one would know it.  She would give no opinion about the gown, no matter how they pressed her with questions.