e hadn't been two to
a wedding when I was young. But the Signori Nobili must have everything
after their own new fashions. And to miss his own _sposalizio_! San
Marco is not good to him--he'll never see another half so fine. Is she
so young as they say--like Maria, there?"

"Ah, to be Signori just for to-day!" sighed the little peasant-mother in
the crowd, as the dazzling cortege passed out of sight into the golden
glooms of San Marco. "To go with the nobili into the Duomo where one may
behold the Pala d'Oro and the wonderful golden candlesticks which the
Serenissimo hath given--to see the Serenissimo take her for the Daughter
of the Republic--wonder of wonders! And then to the Palazzo Ducale for
the Betrothal--_Pazienza_, one must wait; they will come again later, my
_bambini_. Ah, but the beauty of it!" For the brave little woman was
weary, and there was nothing like enthusiasm for keeping up one's
courage, "and Heaven alone knew where Zorzi was with the _barca_!"

The crowd relaxed and grew restless, losing some of the gaiety of its
temper when a weary neighbor settled back a little too roughly on a
fellow-shoulder, or the babies who had been put down on the ground to
rest lost the last sweet morsels they had been munching and clamored in
vain for more--too much excited by the unusual noises and happenings to
deign to notice the brothers of the next size who were busily turning
somersaults in their behalf.

But it would not be long before the procession came again; for the last
of the sumptuous nobles who made this holiday for the people had
disappeared under the portico of San Marco.

The bells were chiming now in soft low undertones, a very ripple of
sound--like the breath of the summer-breeze upon the sea--stilling the
shrill voices of the people in the Piazza, calming the exuberance of
their motions. For it was a signal. They knew that within the Duomo,
before the great altar where slept their patron-saint, ablaze now with
lights and the marvel of the Pala d'Oro which was not for the sight of
the eyes save on days of a _festa_ like this, the child of the Cornaro
was waiting to be made the Daughter of Venice.

* * * * *

And now--for the bells were silent--in the magnificent storied chamber
of the Gran Consiglio, where so many momentous questions of state had
been discussed, in the presence of the Serenissimo, the Signoria, the
Senate and the Forty Noble Matrons, a new leaf was