As they returned through the splendid halls of the palace, Giustinian
paused frequently to exchange a greeting with some old senator who came
forward to welcome the young noble to the grave circle of rulers, and
they were followed with glances of interest as they passed through the
Piazza. For it was whispered in the _Broglio_ that there were
reasons--valid and patriotic, as were all the arguments of Venice--for
the fact that no member of that ancient and loyal house had worn the
highest honor of the state. "_The Ca' Giustiniani was too old, too
wealthy, too influential--too much a part of Venice itself_."
"Like the Orseoli!" said Morosini Morosini, who was a friend of the
Giustiniani, and who, like many another strong-brained Venetian, knew
the taste of unsatisfied longings, yet kept a brave heart for the
records of the Republic. And as he spoke there came to some of them who
knew their annals well a stinging memory of the tale--which was no
legend--of that pathetic group in their island sanctuary--the brothers
who were left, after the death of Otto, the exiled Doge, and of Orso,
the noble bishop-prince, all of the house of Orseoli, who, with their
abbess-sister Felicia, were wounded to the heart because for the crime
of too great love and service the jealous and unrequiting Senate had
banished them forever from the Venice so loyally served--had decreed the
extinction of a family to whom, as Doge and Patriarch, the Republic owed
the wisest and most self-sacrificing of her rulers!
"Nay," said another speaker quickly, a friend to Morosini the
historian--for the Broglio had been known to have a voice as well as
ears, and the subject was a dangerous one, not honorable to
Venice--"Nay, there are no Orseoli.
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