queen--and it was Paolo Cagliari! What did he want with thee?"

"Not me, Piero; it was the child. He wished to give him flowers. I knew
he must be great to care thus for our 'bimbo.' It was really he--the
Veronese?"

"The child! Santa Maria! He is not too much like a cherub that the great
painter should notice him!"

The baby threw out his little clenched fist, striking against the
protecting arms that held him closer, his face drawn with sudden pain;
for a moment he fought against Marina, and then, the spasm over, settled
wearily to sleep in her arms.

"Poverino!" said the gondolier softly, while Marina crooned over him an
Ave Maria, and the gondola glided noiselessly to its cadence.

"Piero," she said, looking up with eyes full of tears, "sometimes I
think I cannot bear it! He needs thy prayers as well as mine--wilt thou
not ask our Lady of San Donato to be kinder to him? And I have seen
to-day, on the Rialto, a beautiful lamp, with angels' heads. Thou
shouldst make an offering----"

The gondolier shook his head and shrugged his shoulders; he had little
faith or reverence. "I will say my aves, _poveriello_," he promised;
"but the lamps are already too many in San Donato. And for the bambino,
I will go not only once, but twice this year to confession--the laws of
our traghetto ask not so much, since once is enough. But thou art even
stricter with thy rules for me."

She did not answer, and they floated on in silence.

"To-morrow," said Piero at length, "there is festa in San Pietro di
Castello."

She moved uneasily, and her beautiful face lost its softness.

"It is nothing to me," she answered shortly.

"It is a pretty festa, and Messer Magagnati should take thee. By our
Lady of Castello, there are others who will go!"

"It would be better for the bambino," he persisted sullenly, as she did
not answer him. His voice was not the pleasanter now that its positive
tone was changed to a coaxing one.

"One is enough, Piero," she said. "And for the festa of San Pietro in
Castello--never, never name it to me!"

"Santa Maria!" her companion ejaculated under his breath; "it is the
women, the gentle _donzelle_, who are hard!"

He stood, tall, handsome, well-made, swaying lightly with the motion of
the gondola, which seemed to float as in a dream to the ripple and lap
of the water; the blue of his shirt had changed to gray in the twilight,
the black cap and sash of the "Nicolotti" accentuated the lines of the
st