III

The little Zuane had eaten his supper of _polenta_ and, in the painted
cradle which his grandfather Girolamo had bought for him from under the
arcades of the Piazetta, lay at last asleep, consigned to the care of
all those saints and guardian angels who make the little ones their
charge, and who smiled down upon him from the golden aureoles and clouds
of rose and blue on the cradle-roof while, slowly balancing, it charmed
him into dreams.

And now, at her window, Marina had the night and the stars to herself,
over the still lagoon and down in its mirroring depths.

It was a sad little tale soon told, this tragedy of Toinetta which had
seemed so great to the dwellers in that home three years ago. A pretty,
wilful child of fifteen, who had grown up impatient of all needful home
restraint, finding rebellion easier because there was no mother to
control her--with a love of motion, color, sunshine, sound, and laughter
that made her an Ariel of Venice, as full of frolic as a kitten and as
irresponsible, choosing in her latest caprice one from the many lovers
who were ready for the wooing with the seriousness with which she would
have chosen a partner for a festa, since to-morrow, if something else
seemed better, this lover also could be changed. But the opposition of
the grave father and sister made their consent the better worth winning,
and set the youthful Gabriele in a more attractive light. So the
betrothal had been duly made in the presence of the numerous circle of
friends and relatives who stand as witnesses at a betrothal feast in
this City of the Sea, and who were as ready with their smiles and their