"
"Tell it plainly!" commanded Girolamo, hastening after the retreating
figure and violently grasping his arm to detain him. "Have I failed to
her in aught? She is soul of my soul! Maledetto! why dost thou break my
heart?"
"Look to thine other son-in-law!" Piero retorted wrathfully; "him of the
crimson robe who sits in the Councils of Venice, and findeth no cure for
thy daughter--dying of terror beside him."
"It is a base slander!" cried old Girolamo, trembling with anger and
fear. "Never was wife more beloved and petted! Marcantonio hath no
thought, save for Marina and Venice!"
"Ay, 'for Marina and Venice,'" was the scornful answer, "_but Venice
first_. Splendor and gifts and the pleasing of every whim, if he could
but guess it--gold for her asking, and her palace no better than a cross
for her dwelling; for the one thing she needeth for her peace and life
he giveth not!"
"What meanest thou?" cried Girolamo, furiously. "Hath he not spent a
fortune on physicians--sparing nothing, save to torment her no more,
since their skill is but weariness to her! She is eating her heart out
for this quarrel with Rome--which no man may help, and it is but
foolishness for women to meddle with; and she hath ever been too much
under priestly sway.
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