She stood for a moment panting with hot, unspoken speech, turning from
one to another, and then, with a sudden, great effort, repressed the
words she would have spoken, asking quietly, after a pause in which no
reference had been made to the expulsion of the confraternities:
"Which of the orders have gone? What more hath happened that I know
not?"
"Nay, the orders of the monks and of the friars have chiefly been
faithful to Venice," they told her, "and all is well. This society,
which for long hath been cause of much disorder in our Republic, it is
well that it leave Venice in peace."
She answered nothing, weighing their words silently. "Is it because they
are faithful to their vows, and to their Church?" she asked at length,
in quiet irony.
"Nay, but because they teach disobedience to princes and would thus
undermine the law of the land," Marcantonio hastened to explain,
grateful that she could at length discuss the question.
"Carina,--blessed be San Marco,--thou art like thyself! We will talk
together; we will make all clear to thee; thou shalt grieve no more,
carinissima!"
She put up her hand and touched his cheek with an answering caress--the
first through all these weary days.
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