"A Venetian of the Venetians, my mother, with the love of Venice in her
soul--but not----"

"Marcantonio, explain thine enigma! How should there be a name of all
our nobles unknown to me?"

"There are nobles of the 'Libro d'Oro,' my mother, and--nobles of the
people, and she is of these."

"How canst thou name a mesalliance to me--Marcantonio Giustiniani,
Nobile di Consiglio--on this day, when thou hast given thy vows to
Venice! Thou dost forget the traditions of thine house."

"Nay, mother; Venice and the Ca' Giustiniani I am not likely to forget,"
he answered, with sudden bitterness. "One thing--quite other--am I much
more likely to forget; but for this have I sworn, that which my heart
teaches me for noble will I do, and she whom I love will I wed--or none
other."

"Marco!" the word seemed a desperate appeal.

"That do I swear upon this sword which my father hath given me to prove
my knighthood--'to enrich,' he hath said, 'the records of our house.'
And thou wilt help me, my mother, for I love thee!" His voice had grown
tender and pleading again.

"I also love thee, Marco," she answered more gently, for none could
resist his voice when this mood was upon him; "but I may not help thee
to undo thyself and forget the honor of thine house."