who saw her could fail to be
amazed and enraptured. The hearts of the fiery youths among the
Signoria blazed up in brightest flame; each, as he surveyed the old man
with mocking glances, vowed in his own breast to play the Mars to this
Vulcan, at whatever cost. Annunziata was soon the centre of a group of
adorers to whose flattering speeches she listened in courteous silence,
without paying much heed to them, one way or another. Her angelic
purity had suffered her to form no other conception of her relation to
her aged, princely consort than to reverence him as her lord and
master, and cleave to him with the unconditional faithfulness of a
submissive handmaid. He was kind--nay, tender with her. He pressed her
to his icy breast, called her fond names, gave her every sort of costly
present; what more could she desire of him? what further claim had she
upon him? The idea of being faithless to him could take no form within
her. All that lay beyond the restricted circle of the relationship
above set forth was a foreign region, whose forbidden boundaries lay
shrouded in dark mist, unseen, undreamt of by this pure and pious
child. All suit for her favour was fruitless. But none of her adorers
was so violently fired by love for the beautiful Dogaressa as Michaele
Steno. Young as he was, he held the important and influential position
of a member of the Council of Forty. Building upon this, and upon his
personal beauty, he was certain of victory. Of old Falieri he felt no
fear. Indeed the latter seemed, as soon as he was married, to have
wholly laid aside his fierce ebullient irritability and his rough
untameable wildness of disposition. He would sit by the fair
Annunziata's side, dressed out in the richest attire, smiling and
smirking, appearing to ask people, with gentle glances of his grey eyes
(to which the tears would often rise), if any of _them_ could boast of
such a wife. In place of his former domineering style of talking, he
now spoke very gently, scarcely moving his lips, calling every one
"_Carissimo Mio_," and granting the most preposterous petitions. Who
would have recognized, in this tender, affectionate old man, that
Falieri who, in Treviso, on the feast of Corpus Christi, smote the
bishop on the face, in a rage--the conqueror of the formidable
Morbassan? This ever-increasing gentleness stimulated Michaele Steno to
the maddest undertakings. Annunziata had no comprehension of what
Michaele--who persecuted and pursue