Marco, with its regnant Lion, and on her
prow the beautiful sculptured figure of a little child.

"_Il Marconino! Il Marconino_!"

There was a brief moment of confusion from the coming and going of
barges,--a short delay which brimmed their excitement to the fever
pitch,--then the waters cleared again of their floating craft, and the
Senator Marcantonio Giustiniani stepped forth on the deck to christen
the gift of his child.

The people looked, and would have shouted--but forebore--gazing
awestruck.

As he stood, firmly planted upon the prow, the crimson drapery of his
senator's robe parted and disclosed the firm young vigor of his limbs,
in their silken hose, and his very attitude showed power. But he wore
the face of a young Greek god who had lightly dreamed that he could
fashion Life out of grace and sunshine, and had waked to carve Endurance
out of Agony.

The child, held high in his arms, was radiant in the sunshine, its
rosebud mouth parting over pearly teeth in dimpling glee, the breeze
lifting the light rings of hair that caressed his soft, round throat,
the hands waving in childish ecstasy and grace. As they stood, just over
the beautiful bust of the "Marconino" which Vittorio had carved upon the
prow, child and father were an embodiment of the play of the crested
foam over the deep trouble of the waves beneath.

"Was it thus that the nobles took their triumphs?" the people questioned
low of each other. "And where was the Lady Marina, the daughter of
Messer Magagnati--_their_ lady, who had been good to the people?"

"She was there--within," some one answered, "she was not strong--the
salutes were too much for her. She was waiting within, with her
maidens."

"To miss such a beautiful festa! Santa Maria!"--the strong peasant
mothers, clasping their infants in their arms, with prattling,
barefooted children clinging to their mantles--so glad for this glimpse
of holiday--looked again at the beautiful, stern face of this father who
had youth and gifts and wealth, his seat in the Consiglio, his boy in
his arms--but no smile for the people pressing around him ready to shout
his name, and they crossed themselves with a nameless yearning and
dread.

But the nobles, with more understanding, looked upon him and forgot
their jealousy.

For the Lady Marina was within, waiting with her maidens in a private
chamber of the arsenal until the hour of the banquet, when her presence
had been required by the Signoria.