, apparently unaware of Marcantonio's turbulent
sensations, wore his usual reserved and dignified mien; even the motion
he had seemed to make before the columns in the Piazzetta was probably
only due to Marcantonio's imagination, and the young fellow's light
rejoinder passed unuttered, intensifying his discomfort. He realized
that he was not searching for this symbolism with a poet's appreciation,
nor as an archaeologist delighting in curios, but as a son of the
Republic--to gather her history and her purpose, to make himself one
with her, to put himself under her yoke--and in his heart he rebelled.

Yet it was he, this time, who paused, undeniably, before the great
window on the Piazzetta. The sun streamed in broad flashes of light over
the soft rose-tinted walls of the palazzo and over the splendid balcony
from which the Doge was wont to view the processions and fetes of the
Republic; the richly sculptured decorations detached themselves at once
in allegory, the figures all leading up to Venice enthroned, holding out
to the world her proud motto, "Fortis, justa, trono furias, mare sub
pede pono." (Strong, just, I put the furies beneath my throne and the
sea beneath my foot.) He walked on under a spell, feeling that the coils
were tightening around him; he was a noble, but not free; yet he would
not have surrendered his opportunities for the freer life of the people
who had no part in the Consiglio.

He quickened his pace that the moment of irresolution might be the
sooner over.

"Wait!" his father commanded, as Marcantonio would have entered the
palace gate; "haste ill befits thy grave and dignified purpose. Before
thou enterest the Consiglio I would have thee reverently mark how, at
the palace gate, Justice sits enthroned on high, between the Lions of
St. Mark, while Courage, Prudence, Hope, and Charity wait upon her."

"And below," answered Marcantonio, because he could think of nothing
else to say, and because he knew every angle and carving of the palace
from the aesthetic point of view better than his father did; "below is
the Doge Foscari, kneeling very reverently to our noble Lion."

His father slowly scanned him with his inscrutable gaze, but answered
nothing, and they passed under the magnificent Porta della Carta quite
silently. Under the deep shadow of the gateway the business of the Ducal
Palace was already progressing. Secretaries at their desks were
preparing papers for discussion, while their assist