Marco, he was so beautiful! And
the day has been a dream; I wished for no one but for thee alone."
He held her hand in a mute caress, but with preoccupation, while his
eyes wandered back to the Piazzetta searchingly.
"It is strange," he muttered to himself, still watching from the end of
the balcony. "It was an echo of the Lady Beata's voice that startled me,
crossing the Piazzetta saying two words only--'In Padua.'"
Then rousing himself, he turned brightly to his wife. "Carina, I have
news for thee, for the time hath been momentous for us in Venice. Di
Gioiosa hath gone forward, these many days, with terms from Venice; and
soon, it is thought, there will be peace."
_Terms_ from Venice to Rome!--but the words did not move her from her
resolve to let no shadow of their difference mar the beauty of this
night.
She looked at him wearily. "It is ever the same," she said, "through
this long, dreary year--ever the same! Let us forget it all for this one
night. Let us talk together of our Marconino!"
And as if there had been no questions--no interdict--no pain--while the
night sounds died into silence and the moon withdrew her glamor and left
them alone to the solemn mystery of the starlight, they sat and talked
together of love and their little one and their hopes for him, and of
things that lie too deep for utterance--save by one to one--far into
that beautiful Venetian night, with the odor of flowers and incense
blown up to them on the breath of the sea.
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