name was other than Magagnati, who was the master in that restoration.
But the first mosaics in that old San Marco--ay, and the workmen," he
added with a conscious effort, so much would he have liked to claim the
invention for Venice, "came hither from the East. Thou shouldst know the
history of our art; it is the story of thine ancestry and the nobility
of thy house. Thou hast no other."

"I have thee, my father!"



IV

The Veronese did not paint that beautiful face the next morning as he
had planned; for the first time he had encountered difficulties. Slowly,
as he wended his way through the many turnings of the narrow calle to
Campo San Maurizio, carrying a beautiful Moorish box filled with the
pearly shells which the Venetians call "flowers of the Lido," and a
bouquet of aromatic carnations for the bambino, he recalled the figure
and speech of his Madonna, and they were not those of the maidens whom
one might encounter at the traghetto or in the Piazza; there had been a
dignity and self-forgetfulness in such perfect harmony with the face
that, at the moment, this had seemed entirely natural. But the tones
returned to him as he pondered, filled with a deeper melody than the
usual winning speech of the Venetian; with the grace of the soft dialect
there was a rare, unexpected quality, as if thought had formed the
undertone. He had never heard such a voice in the Piazza--it was rare
even in the palazzo; it was the voice of some sweet and gracious woman
with a soul too large for the world; it held a suggestion of peace and
convent bells and even-songs of nuns.